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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 21 hours ago

Text

"Real Man"

Older Au Chapter 3.

THIS IS A MATURE STORY. IT HAS SOME SEXUAL SENCES, IF YOU DONT LIKE DON'T READ. Ok yall ik i said i was gonna post this last night but i hated it so i rewrote it! if it sucks don't say anything pls. sorry if it's repetitive, lmk whose team ur on!!! And what you want to happen next. comments, reblogs, likes and kind asks are always appreciated. If this one random anon keeps sending theses crazy things, i'll have to remove anon asks, which I dont want to do. I love my anons, so pls be nice. Send in asks, I miss yall, I've been sooooo busy with school lately and I havent had time to get on here. THIS IS MY 1ST TIME WRITNG ANYTHING LIKE THIS SO LMK HOW IT ISSSSS

WHY AM I GETTING THE FEWLINF EVERYONE HATES THIS??? IM ABT TO DELEYEB TS NGL 😭

Six months had passed since that night—the night you let Slade’s words sink into your skin like venom and made the choice that changed everything. For better and worse.

You hadn't accepted his offer easily. Not after what happened with Two-Face. That betrayal still sat in your chest like a dull ache, a constant reminder of how easily people could take what they wanted and leave you with nothing. You had sworn not to trust so easily again, not to let yourself fall into another cycle of being used and discarded. So when Slade made his offer, you hesitated.

"You're smarter than this," you had told yourself that night. "You know what happens when you trust the wrong person. You know what men like him want."

And yet, here you were. Living in his world.

Not as a prisoner, not as a puppet, but as something more. The lines were blurred, shifting with every glance, every order he gave that you didn’t question, every moment that stretched too long in the dim glow of your shared space. Because that’s what it was now, shared.

The apartment Slade had set up was far from a safe house. It was huge and spacious, Slade wasn't a cheap man. It felt lived in. Your things mingled with his, your scent lingering in the air. You bought vases and filled them with flowers, you organized the kitchen and bought him real groceries, not just canned food. You hung pictures you developed of you and him. Ones he didn't know you took. You roped him into painting your room a baby blue, a color he swore he hated, yet he still slept in your room every night. It was comical to see such a large man laying in a pastel colored room on your floral bedsheets, the last man you let into your bed was equally large. But we don't talk about him.

Slade cared for you deeply, or at least tolerated you. At first you were always at each others throats, each person throwing a more cutting remark than the other. When your arguements got so bad that you began to ignore him, he brought home women, made sure he heard them moaning through the walls till you snapped and began screaming.

You hated Slade Wilson

But after the first month things began to change, Slade never said anything about it, but you caught the way his eyes would darken when he returned from a mission, his gaze sweeping over you like he needed to confirm you were still here. Like he expected you to disappear.

You leaned against the counter, watching him from the corner of your eye as he cleaned his weapons. The rhythmic motion of his hands, the way he handled each blade with the kind of care most reserved for something fragile, it was almost mesmerizing. Everything he does is.

“You’re staring,” he said, not looking up. God, he's so smug.

You scoffed. "No, you are. I don't stare at creepy old men. In fact, it's usually the opposite."

His lips curled into that knowing smirk, the one that made something tighten in your chest. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

The nickname used to irritate you. Now, you weren’t sure what it did. All you knew was that it made your heart race the way only one person had before. He used to call you sweetheart too.

Slade’s presence in your life was suffocating, an unshakable force that wrapped itself around you, squeezing tighter with every passing day. He was cruel in the way he trained you, brutal in his expectations. If you failed, he had no patience for it. Slade trained you for greatness and he wouldn't tolerate anything less.

“You call that a punch?” he sneered one evening in your early days of training, after you had barely managed to land a hit on him. “Pathetic. I’ve seen senior citizens put up more of a fight,"

Gritting your teeth, you launched at him again, only for him to sidestep effortlessly. A sharp pain bloomed across your ribs as he shoved you down, hard. The thing that you loved and hated most about Slade was that he treated you like an equal. He didn't see you as his younger, fragile, kind-of girlfriend; he saw you as an equal opponent.

“You hesitated,” he said, standing over you. “That hesitation will get you killed.”

You spat blood onto the mat and glared up at him. “Or maybe I just don’t care if I live or die. Nothing is ever really this serious.”

Something flickered in his eye, dark and unreadable, before he crouched beside you. His fingers dug into your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He didn't understand your humor sometimes, considering he's old enough to be your father.

“Oh, but you do, you want to survive. To be great, ” he murmured, voice dangerously soft. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

He let go of you with a sharp shove and stood. “Get up. We’re not done.”

The tension between you both had only grown over the months. Slade had a way of pressing in, invading your space without ever needing to touch you. Sure you guys fucked almost twice, sometimes three times a week, but there was that small sliver of confusion and hesitation.

Sure, he slept in your bed ever night now, called it "our room," and sure you stayed up waiting when his missions would take too long. Yeah, you would run and jump into his open arms, feeling nothing but content as he kissed your forehead and took you to the bed, it's normal that ya'll didn't even have sex some nights, that you just cuddled.

Sometimes, you swore he was waiting, waiting for you to be the one to close that final inch between you. But you never did. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you fell into a rhythm. Training. Fighting. Learning with him and laughing with him. He pushed you harder than anyone ever had, demanding perfection, never letting you slip back into old habits. He didn’t coddle you like they did. He didn’t pretend you were something delicate. He made you strong.

Most nights, after an exhausting day of training, you would sit on the brown leather couch cuddled up to him with your head on his chest and his arms around you, the dim glow of the television flickering between you. Slade wasn’t much for small talk, you talked enough for the both of you, but the silence between you felt... comfortable, almost warm

“Why did you take me in?” you had asked once, voice barely above a whisper.

He had taken a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. “Because I saw something in you,” he finally answered. “Potential. Something you’re too afraid to admit to yourself.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you wondered if there was truth in his words. You liked that he believed in you, no one had done that before.

Then there were the other moments. The ones that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge. The way he stood too close when showing you how to hold a blade properly, his breath warm against your skin. The way his hands lingered too long when correcting your stance. The way his gaze dropped to your lips before he forced himself to look away.

Neither of you ever acknowledged it. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. It's completely normal for your teacher/mentor/enemy to sleep in the same bed as you every night. It'd be weird if you didn't make breakfast and dinner for the two of you. It'd be weird if you didn't know his favorite foods and if he didn't know how to braid your hair. It'd be even weirder if he didn't make you coffee exactly how you like it and help you put away the dishes.

Slade had become an inescapable presence, his control over you extending far beyond training. He knew where you were at all times, had a way of appearing when you least expected it, his eyes always sharp, always knowing. Some nights, when you tried to slip out for air, you’d find him already outside, leaning against a wall as if he’d been waiting for you. He let you do what you wanted, think you were free, but he was always watching you.

If you were singing at a bar, you could count on him to be in the crowd. If you met with Selina at a restaurant you could count on him to drive you home. Slade was always there. Selina thought it was strange, you took comfort in it.

“You really think you can go anywhere without me knowing?” he had mused once, a shadow of amusement in his voice.

It should have bothered you. Maybe it did. But part of you had started to crave it, the way he made you feel like you belonged to him, even if neither of you would ever admit it.

Slade had been… watchful lately. More than usual. He came back late from missions, missions he didn't let you come to, sometimes with a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. He was hesitant to let you go and preform at bars, sometimes convincing you to just play the songs on your guitar in the living room and run your fingers through his hair as you both laid on the couch.

There were the calls—brief, coded. You were offended, Slade told you almost everything these days but somehow no amount of sweet talk and bedroom eyes could get him to budge this time. And then there were the other things. The subtle shifts in the city’s underworld. More movement in Gotham than usual. The quiet whispers of old ghosts stirring, names you hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Bruce.

You saw it in the way certain streets had too many eyes. As if waiting. As if listening.

And then there was the whisper of something else. Something darker, something clawing at the edge of your awareness. A name that had once sent a thrill through you, now only bringing unease and resentment.

Harvey Dent.

A name you hadn’t spoken in months, yet it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake. A man you couldn't bare to even think of. A drink left for you at a bar you hadn't performed at in weeks, a coat draped over the back of a chair that looked too familiar.

Slade noticed before you did. “You’ve got a ghost,” he murmured one evening, the flicker of a knife between his fingers. “One that doesn’t know how to stay buried.”

You didn’t ask him what he meant. You didn’t have to. You already knew. You just didn't know why. Had he finally seen through Tiffany, now that it was too late?

At first, you didn’t question it. Slade had always been territorial—watchful, overbearing when he wanted to be. He had a way of controlling things without seeming like he was. That was how he worked.

So when you first noticed the shifts, you didn’t react. Your schedule changed, but not because you changed it.

You used to go out when you wanted. Walk the streets when they were quiet, feel the Gotham night press against your skin, the air cold and sharp. Not anymore.

Things began to change this week. Now, every time you thought about leaving, something stopped you.

The fridge was always stocked, eliminating any reason to step outside. Your favorite food. Your favorite drinks. Little things appeared when you needed them; new clothes, supplies, anything that might have made you leave for even a moment. Things you mentioned only in passing, like the new lipstick you wanted or a pair of vintage heels or a new bag.

If you reached for your coat, Slade would speak before you even touched the door. Asking where you were going, trying to be casual.

It was never a command. Never outright control. But the implication was there. And every time you hesitated, he won. If you needed to leave or just wanted to go out, he would come with; a silent yet protective figure always in the shadows.

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that should have been peaceful but wasn’t. The apartment smelled like old wood and gun oil, the faintest trace of smoke lingering from Slade’s cigar earlier. You had just stepped out of the shower, skin still warm from the heat, hair damp as you walked barefoot across the floor in your towel.

Your hand brushed against the pretty golden door knob absentmindedly.

And then you froze. Something was different.

Your fingers curled around the lock, tracing over the new ridges, the reinforced structure. The weight of it felt wrong.

It wasn’t your lock. Not the cute one you insisted on buying at the antique shop that Slade hated. It didn't match the walls.

Your stomach twisted. You turned slowly, your damp hair clinging to your skin as your mind raced. This wasn’t an accident. You hadn’t imagined it. Slade had changed the locks. The thought sent something icy down your spine. Alarm bells blared in your mind.

You tried to shake it off, tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was security. Maybe he just wanted better protection.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t it. Because he didn’t tell you. Because Slade never did anything without a purpose. Because Slade Wilson didn't need a lock to keep people out. And because you hadn’t noticed until now. You took a slow, steady breath and turned toward the living room.

Slade was there, like always, seated in his usual chair by the window, sharpening a knife. The sound of steel against whetstone was rhythmic, deliberate. His posture was relaxed, but you weren’t fooled. His fingers were too steady, his shoulders just a little too still.

He was waiting. Watching. Like he had already predicted this moment, like he was ready for an argeument. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, heart pounding too fast, not caring if you were in a towel.

"Planning on keeping me in a cage?" you muttered.

Slade didn’t pause. Didn’t even look up. “Planning on keeping you alive.” The words were so smooth, so easy, that your stomach turned.

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t hiding it. He wasn't denying it. Not anymore. This wasn’t a mistake. This was intentional.

You forced a laugh, though it felt hollow in your throat. “Right. Because I’m just so incapable of keeping myself safe. Even after all the training we've done. Even with my literal super-human abilities.”

Slade finally looked up. His eye locked onto yours.

There was no humor in his gaze. No smirk, like he usually had on while teasing. Just that slow, assessing stare that made your pulse stutter.

"If I thought you were capable of that," he murmured, voice quiet, too quiet, "we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Your chest tightened. Because the way he said it sent something sinking into the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t just about protecting you. This was about making sure you never left.

Two days later, you decided to test it. Just to see what would happen. Slade had stepped out—or so he wanted you to believe. The moment you heard the door shut behind him, you moved.

Your fingers curled around the knob.

Turned it— but a large, scared hand beat you two it

"Going somewhere?"

Your entire body locked up. You gulped and licked your suddenly dry lips, he had you cornered with one hand on the knob and the other caging you in as he towered over you. His voice was smooth, calm—too calm. You turned slowly, pulse thrumming in your throat. Slade stood right behind you.

The door was still closed.

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard him come back. Hadn’t even realized he was there. So much for super hearing. Nothing worked on Slade Wilson. You kept your expression neutral. Didn’t let him see the panic creeping up your throat.

"Didn’t realize I had a curfew," you muttered with an uneasy grin, trying to start your usual banter. Slade didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched you.

“You don’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. But he didn’t move. Didn’t step aside. Didn’t let you leave. The silence stretched too long.

Finally, you forced a smile, tilting your head. “Then I’ll be back in an hour.” Nothing changed in his expression. But you could feel the weight of his stare. Then he tilted his head, eye dark and calculating.

“It's not safe out there anymore. Not for you.”

You blinked. Something in his tone shifted.Not amusement. Not control. Something else. Something darker. Like he was waiting for you to figure it out.

Your stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even move.

Just let the question hang in the air, stretching the silence tight between you. And that’s when it hit you.

He wasn’t stopping you because he was afraid you’d leave.

He was stopping you because something else was waiting outside.

Something he wasn’t telling you about.

Your mouth went dry. Slade finally let out a slow, amused breath, pushing off the wall.

And then—

He stepped aside. A challenge. Daring you to open the door. You hesitated. And that was all it took.

The moment you hesitated, you lost. Slade smirked, shaking his head like he had already predicted every move you would make. "Let's get to bed." He rasped out, looking at you with dark, seductive eyes.

And then he turned, walking past you like the conversation was over. Because it was. Because he knew you wouldn’t leave now.

The next morning, the locks changed again. The windows were reinforced. Your pretty pink curtains replaced with black shutters. Your phone stopped working. You couldn't call Selina. Every excuse to leave was removed before you could even think about it. You tried not to panic. Tried not to question it.

But Slade was closing the walls in. And you weren’t sure if it was to keep someone out—

Or to keep you in.

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence.

You had slipped into a bar down the street, needing to breathe, needing something normal.

The moment you stepped in, your stomach turned. Something familiar. Cologne. Not just any cologne. Expensive. Sharply tailored. The scent of whiskey and authority.

You froze.

Your mind screamed at you. It’s just someone else wearing it. It’s just your imagination. And then you saw it. A glass at the bar. Untouched. Neat. No ice. A double pour. your breath hitched.

Harvey’s drink.

It wasn’t until you came home that you truly realized. Because that’s when you saw the rose.

A single red rose on the kitchen counter.

Waiting for you. Your entire body went cold. It wasn’t from Slade. It couldn’t be from Slade. Slade would never bring you roses, he wasn't a gentleman. And he knew you liked hydrangeas and peonies now.

You turned slowly and nearly threw up.

Slade was already standing there. Watching. Waiting. His jaw was tight. His fingers twitched at his side. He didn’t say anything. And that’s when you knew,

He had seen this coming.

“Where did that come from?” you asked, voice thin. Why was he doing this? Was shattering your heart not enough? Did he want to ruin things with you and Slade?

Slade didn’t answer. Instead, he walked forward, plucked the rose from the counter, and rolled it between his fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. Then, he crushed it.

Your stomach dropped. The petals crumbled to the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. "You tell me, sweetheart."

For the rest of the night, he didn’t let you out of his sight. Not directly holding you hostage, but you felt it. The way he lingered in doorways. The way his hand ghosted too close when you passed him.

Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to ask. Waiting for you to figure it out. Waiting for Harvey to stop playing games and make a real move.

You weren’t sure when it had happened; when you had stopped keeping track of time, stopped caring about the difference between one night and the next. Slade made sure you had no reason to count the days. He made sure you had no reason to want anything. You woke up every morning in his arms and went to bed satisfied and well loved. It wasn’t a prison but it wasn’t freedom either. It was something in between. A limbo of his design. A small slice of heaven in hell.

You were happy. But something was off, Slade was being more paranoid and he got less subtle about it each day.

You weren’t trapped, not physically. Slade let you leave the apartment. You weren’t chained to the walls, weren’t locked in a room. He took you out on missions, let you get your hands dirty alongside him, let you breathe in the crisp Gotham air under the cover of night. In some ways, those nights were the only times you felt alive, other than when you were with Slade. The weight of a blade in your hand, the burn in your muscles from the chase, the sharp adrenaline rush of the fight, of using your powers on someone they affected; it reminded you that you still existed outside of this quiet game he played with you. Because that’s what it was. A game.

Slade never said it outright, never told you he was keeping you on a leash, but you could feel it tightening with every passing week. At first, it was small things. The way he subtly redirected missions away from Gotham’s city center, keeping you to the outskirts, where the shadows were deeper and the chances of running into familiar faces were slimmer. The way he always made sure you stayed close during a job, always just within arm’s reach. It wasn’t just protection. You knew better than that. It was control. He was testing you, waiting to see if you would try to slip away, if you would give him a reason to remind you just how easily he could pull you back.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the real test wasn’t in the field. It was what happened after.

After the job was done, after the adrenaline had settled into exhaustion, after the long, banter filled walk back to wherever Slade had decided to keep you that night. It was in the way he never let you wander too far. The way his hand would hover at the small of your back without quite touching, guiding you down the streets like he was the one who decided where you went. It was in the way he never left you alone for too long.

At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Slade was always working, always had something that needed his attention. But then you started to notice the patterns. You ate together, you slept together, trained together, hell; you even showered together. You were never alone for more than a few hours. If he had business elsewhere, you were given something to occupy your time—training, surveillance, a task that kept you exactly where he wanted you.

You tested it once again, just to see what would happen. After he had left for what you thought was a routine meeting, you had grabbed your coat and made your way to the door. You weren’t even thinking about leaving him, not really. You just wanted to see if you could. If there was still a part of you that could step outside without feeling the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Your fingers had just curled around the doorknob when you heard his voice. Low. Even. Inevitable.

“Going somewhere?”

You were getting de ja vu. This happened last time too. You had swallowed hard, pulse spiking in your throat as you turned. He was standing right behind you.

You hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t heard his footsteps. He was just there, watching, waiting. The worst part was that he wasn’t even angry. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you, wasn’t raising his voice or blocking your way. He didn’t have to.

Slade had simply leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eye scanning you with that sharp, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. “Didn’t realize I needed permission,” you had said, forcing your voice to stay steady. You wouldn't let him control everything, not another man would be in charge of your life.

“You don’t.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he had already solved. “Just wondering if you really think it’s safe out there.”

Not this odd shit again.

That made you pause. The way he said it. Not like a threat. Not like he was trying to scare you into staying. He said it the same way as last time. Like he already knew something you didn’t.

Your grip on the doorknob tightened. “What are you talking about? You said this last time.”

Slade didn’t answer right away. He just let the silence stretch, let you feel the weight of your own hesitation. Then, slowly, he took a step back. Another challenge.

“If you want to go,” he said, gesturing toward the door, “go.”

Your breath caught. You should have. You should have walked out.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew that if you did, if you stepped outside now, you wouldn’t just be walking into Gotham. You would be walking into something else. Something waiting.

Slade knew it. And now, so did you.

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the door. Slade huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like you had just proven his point. Then, without another word, he walked past you and disappeared into the other room. That was the moment you knew, whatever was waiting for you out there was worse than what was waiting inside. You just didn’t know what it was yet.

You found out a week later. A part of it, at least.

The envelope was waiting for you when you returned from a job with Slade, slipped under the apartment door like a whisper of something you had tried to forget. You had bent down, fingers hesitating just for a second before picking it up. The paper was thick, expensive. No return address. No markings. But you didn’t have to open it to know who it was from. The sharp smell of cologne gave it away.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in the back of your throat as you tore it open, your hands gripping the edges a little too tightly. The letter inside was simple. Only four words.

You won't forget me.

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled. Because the worst part was, he was right. No matter how much Slade consumed you, or your occasional fantasy about Clark; he also stayed on your mind

You barely had time to process it before you heard the apartment door shut behind you. Your fingers snapped the letter closed, chest tightening, but it was too late.

Slade had already seen.

His expression didn’t change, but you could feel it. The shift in the air. The way his shoulders set just a little too still, the way his single eye flickered from your face to the envelope with something dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, not rushing, just closing the distance between you with the kind of inevitability that made your breath come short.

You turned, but before you could move, his hand shot out. Not rough, not gentle like usual, just firm. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you in place.

“Let go,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for the letter.

You pulled back.

Slade’s grip tightened. “Let me see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. He wasn't used to you denying him these days, not when you loved him.

Your stomach clenched. You didn’t let go, but it didn’t matter. Because Slade never asked twice.

With one sharp tug, he tore the letter from your grasp, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. You watched as his eye scanned the words, his jaw tensing, his fingers tightening around the paper just slightly.

Then, finally, a quiet chuckle. A dark, amused sound. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Your breath hitched. Slade looked at you now. Expression unreadable.

“Do you miss him?” Your heart stopped. You denied it, but you could see in Slade's eyes that he didn't believe you. In the way he turned away from you that night. You didn't blame him, you didn't even believe yourself.

Harvey always knew how to play the long game.

Small things began to shift in your life and you knew who was behind it. The song on the radio. A scarf. A photo photo. They were never coincidences, he didn’t believe in coincidence. The man was calculated, meticulous in his pursuits. When he wanted something, he played patient, steady, unyielding, watching from the shadows, striking when you least expected it.

Slade was the same way, but Slade never needed patience. Slade took what he wanted. Harvey waited for it to come back to him.

The jazz playing in the bar was nothing, just white noise in the background while you sat beside Slade, nursing your drink, your head still fogged from the last mission. You weren’t thinking of anything other than how good it felt to finally sit still.

Then, days later, the scarf appeared. Neatly folded on the couch, like a gift wrapped in silence, waiting for you to pick it up. You hadn’t touched it at first, just stood there, staring at it, fingers twitching at your sides. It was a trick of the mind, an old memory manifesting in a way that didn’t make sense.

Except it wasn’t.

He had been here. Or close enough to touch. You should have told Slade. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And then, the photo. A photo Selina took of you and him dancing at the Pink Pony Club. It smelled like him too.

That was what shattered the illusion of security, the idea that you had control over this. The moment you saw it, you knew.

Harvey had always been a sentimentalist, clinging to memories long past, treasuring things most people would discard.

You, once upon a time, had been one of those things. And now? You weren’t sure. You weren't sure what he wanted, especially since he had Tiffany. You had placed the photo down carefully, afraid to crumple it, afraid to acknowledge what it meant.

You had kept your movements neutral, your breath steady, but Slade had been watching. His presence in the other room was a solid weight pressing into your chest. The shuffle of files, the slow deliberate sound of metal being set down, he was waiting.

He had noticed. Of course, he had. Slade noticed everything. And yet, he didn’t say a word.

You lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, feeling Slade’s presence next to you like a silent storm waiting to break. He wasn’t asking. He was waiting for you to give yourself away. To tell him the truth, to trust him like he trusted you.

Slade had been watching you too closely, keeping his invisible leash tight without ever pulling. That was the way he worked, he let you think you had freedom while keeping you within his reach. If you had tried to leave through the door, he would have known.

So, you didn’t.

You waited, feigned sleep, forced your breathing into something slow, even, something convincing. You heard him move in the other room, heard the creak of his chair, the slow inhale of a cigar.

You moved the moment he shifted. Window, not the door. Silent steps. A fire escape that groaned beneath your weight. By the time Slade glanced back toward the couch, you were already gone.

Harvey knew you would come.

You knew that from the moment you stepped onto the rooftop, the Gotham skyline stretched out behind him like a kingdom.

He turned before you could say anything, a slow, easy movement, his face shadowed beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. And then, he smiled. Not a smirk. Not the sharp, dangerous grin you had been expecting. It was something softer. Something more desperate. Like a man in the desert coming across a well.

“Took you long enough, didn't think you got my message. I started thinking that maybe the note didn't reach you.” he murmured. The message he left in the women's bathroom at a bar you and Slade frequented.

Your throat felt tight. You felt hurt all over again. Like someone reopened the wound of his betrayal. Like the same broken girl Slade took in six months ago. You came here for closure. So that it wouldn't hurt when you said his name or sang the songs you wrote for him. “How did you find me?”

What did he want? To torture you? Rub salt in your wounds?

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I never lost you.”

Only Slade called you that now. The words made your stomach twist, a cold knot settling in your chest. You should have walked away then. But you didn’t. Because you had to know.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you haunting me? Not letting me move on?” Your voice shook as you said it. This conversation was long overdue.

Harvey’s fingers gripped the railing, his knuckles white. “Because I need you to listen to me. Just once. Just this once. Hear me out.”

Your heart hammered. Hear him out? He could've started with an apology.

“You think I’ll forgive you?” you spat. You would, because when you looked at him, you still felt the same warmth you did all those months ago; only this time it was mixed with resentment and longing.

He flinched. And for the first time, you saw it—the raw, desperate emotion that he had always hidden behind sharp words and confident grins. The mask cracked, just for a second.

His voice turned rough, unsteady. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know that. But I need you to hear me out.”

You shook your head, stepping back, but he reached out—not touching, not yet, but close.

“You don’t know what’s happening,” he continued, his voice dropping into something urgent, pleading. “Your family—Tim, Dick, all of them—they’re figuring it out. They’re finding out the truth about Tiffany. They'll realize what she's doing, like I did.They'll know soon, maybe not today or tomorrow; but soon. They'll realize she's been using her powers on them like she did to me.”

Your breath came too short. No. This was not happening. Not when you were finally happy again. Not when you think you've fallen in love with Slade.

“No,” you whispered.

Your vision blurred. It was happening. Everything you had tried to scream about for years, everything they had ignored, it was going to come to light. Harvey’s fingers brushed your wrist.

Soft. Careful. Like he was trying not to scare you away.

“And when they realize what they did to you,” he murmured, “they’re going to come running. Crawling back like I am.”

Your stomach twisted.

“They’re going to act like they care,” he continued, voice soft, insidious. “Like they’re sorry. But they’re not. Not like I am. You know that, don’t you?”

Your lips parted. You hated how much sense it made. Hated how deep the doubt had already burrowed into your skin. Hated how genuine and honest he was being, you could sense it. Harvey tilted his head.

And then, voice lower, almost fragile he said, “You don’t have to go back to them.”

Your stomach dropped. You stepped back. “I’m not going back,” you said, voice shaking. Never.

Harvey swallowed hard. And for a moment, you thought he might break, that the weight of what he had done, what he had lost, might finally crush him. But then, he looked at you.

And you saw it, the shift. The danger. Not Two-Face. Not the cold, calculated criminal.

Just Harvey Dent. The man who never let go. “You think you’re free?” he murmured.

The words sent a chill down your spine. Harvey smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “You think he just let you leave?”

Your chest tightened. You tried not to show the flicker of doubt, the small crack in your resolve. But Harvey saw it.

And then, voice so soft, so dangerous—“He’s not going to let you go either. He'll keep you locked up. I won't.”

You should have never gone to him.

You had known it was a mistake the second you saw him standing there, leaning against the rooftop railing, the glow of Gotham’s skyline making him look almost human.

But you had gone anyway. Because Harvey had always been a mistake you kept making.

You clenched your fists, how dare he talk about Slade? What right did he have to tell you who to trust. "Yeah and I'm gonna take advice from you. That's rich."

He softened immediately, his regret and remorse so obvious; yet he refused to apologize. You wanted to hit him, hurt him like he hurt you; yet when he stood in front of you in the moonlight, your treacherous heart still beat for him. Your heart didn't want to hurt the man who showed you what love is. The man who picked up the shattered pieces your family and Clark left and rearranged them beautifully. It didn't care that he broke them again; he could fix it.

“I made a mistake. I paid for it, I know the truth now.” He said steadily stepping closer, sensing your reluctance.

Your pulse pounded. “What do you want from me?” You were here for answers, not to rekindle an old flame. Not when you were starting one.

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing from you. ”

The words hit you too hard. You understood what he was implying, what he wanted. You knew he would come crawling back someday, you just didn't expect it so soon

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Why?”

His smile faltered. His hands curled around the railing, gripping it like he needed something solid to hold on to.

"You know why. But that's not what i called you for. I called you to warn you about your family and Tiffany,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. More desperate. “I can throw them off for a little while, lead them off track and make sure they don't know the truth. If that's what you want. But once they know the truth, they won't leave you alone. Certainly not with him.”

You hated the way your chest tightened with affection at his consideration. You hated that you were here. You hated that he still had a hold on you. You hated how he talked about Slade. You hated hearing him say Tiffany's name, it brought back so much hurt and hatred.

“I don't care about them Keep them away for as long as you want. You know I'm not here to hear about them or your whore.” you said viciously, your eyes shining and your teeth sharpening.

Slade would be proud.

Harvey didn't react to your fangs, he wasn't afraid of you. He came closer and grasped your hand, his eyes so heartbroken that it gave you satisfaction, only for a minute.

His voice cracked slightly. “Nothing I do or say can make up for what I did.” His jaw tightened. “I know that.”

You should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because Harvey’s voice dropped lower, his words curling around you like a trap you should have seen coming. “But I need you to know something,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, watching your reaction. “She wanted to be you, she tried so hard.”

Your breath hitched. You knew this. But hearing Harvey say it made you feel so much better.

Harvey’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “But she never could.”

Your stomach dropped. Why did this have to happen now? Why now when you finally forgot about him?

“She dressed like you,” he continued. “Talked like you. Watched the way you moved. The way you laughed.” His voice hardened. “The way you loved.”

You shook your head, backing away. You couldn't take this anymore. You wanted to run back into Slade's arms, where nothing could touch you. “Shut up.”

Harvey didn’t.

“She wanted to take everything from you.” His expression twisted. “And maybe, if I had been a different man, I would have let her.”

Your skin crawled at the thought. Harvey let out a breathless laugh, bitter and sharp. “But I couldn’t. I had to go digging, looking for clues.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Because she wasn’t you. No matter how hard she tried to be. No matter how much she played with my mind, she could never replace you.”

You hated him.

You hated that you believed him.

You hated how you still loved him.

Harvey exhaled sharply, tilting his head, watching you with something frighteningly raw. “Every time she touched me, every time she tried to take something that wasn’t hers—” his voice dropped into something dangerous, low and dark and broken— “I was thinking of you.”

Your breathing came too fast.

Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her,” he whispered, “I wanted it to be you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop. I don't care.” Lies.

“She wasn’t you,” he repeated, voice almost pleading. “She never could be.”

Your throat closed. Your eyes watered and your teeth burned with unshed venom just thinking of his betrayal. Why was this happening.

Harvey’s fingers ghosted over your wrist. Not touching, not quite.

“I never wanted her, not really” he murmured. “Not once.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. This was all you wanted to hear, all you wished for for so long. So why did you feel trapped. Harvey’s voice dropped even lower. He moved even closer

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

You forced yourself to look at him.

“If you don’t care,” he whispered, eyes burning, “why are you still here? Why do you want answers so bad? Why do you still look at me like that?”

You shouldn’t have come.

But you hadn’t been able to help yourself.

Because Harvey always knew what to say, how to linger in your mind like an open wound that refused to heal.

And now here you were, standing under the dim glow of the rooftop’s city lights, your eyes watering, the weight of his gaze pressing into you, sinking into your bones like something familiar, something dangerous.

You forced yourself to keep your stance steady, your pulse even. “You don’t get to ask me those questions.”

Harvey let out a breath, almost a chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His hands curled around the railing as he moved away from you again, gripping the cold metal like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for you.

“Do you know how many times I told myself you were gone? That I lost you, ” His voice was steady now, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous. “How many times I tried to let you go, to let you move on?”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something else, something more dangerous. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me. I didn't want you to regret your choice. I didn't want anything but happiness for you. No matter how much you hurt me.”

Harvey’s fingers twitched.

“No.” His lips pressed together in a thin line, he knew the truth, that you always wished the best for him. “No, you didn’t.”

The wind curled between you, cold and sharp, carrying the weight of everything unsaid. You should have turned away. Should have walked back the way you came.

But then Harvey laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

“She used her little snake charm but somehow,” he continued, “after a week I was thinking of you. I never loved her. Couldn't even bring myself to like her, honestly.”

Your stomach dropped. It was a gut punch, sharp and unforgiving. He saw it—the flicker of emotion in your face, the tightening of your jaw, the way your breathing caught for just a second too long.

And Harvey, Two-Face, the man who never let go, moved forward, voice soft, eyes burning.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I never stopped loving you”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Shut up.”

He ignored you. Again.

“I love you so much,” he said, voice low. “You love me too or you wouldn't be here.”

“I said shut up.” He was right, he always is.

Harvey smirked, but there was nothing victorious in it. It was almost self-loathing.

“I never loved her,” he whispered again. He was making sure you knew.

“She wanted me to,” he continued. “She wanted to take everything from you.” His jaw tightened. “And maybe, if you had been a different woman, I would have let her.”

The thought of it made your skin crawl.

Harvey, Tiffany. Together. The ultimate betrayal.

“But I couldn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “Because she wasn’t you.”

He kept repeating it, trying to speak his remorse into your heart directly. You hated how much it affected you. Hated how your chest ached, how your mind burned with the thought of what could have been. You shouldn’t care. But you did. And Harvey knew it.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, forcing steel into your voice. “You used her, just like she used you. You wanted to spy on Bruce and I wouldn't do it.”

Harvey let out a sharp breath. “Yeah.” His eyes met yours. Unflinching. “I did.”

There was no shame in his voice. Just cold, simple truth. No regret anymore. He didn't regret using her, he regretted hurting you.

“But it wasn’t revenge, sweetheart,” he murmured, his Gotham accent slipping in the angrier he got. “It was survival. She had me under her little spell at first; when that stopped working, her little dream team made sure I never stepped outta line. Never came crawling back to you, never told anyone the truth. But I'm done with them now.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her, every time I played along, I was thinking of you.” His voice dipped, lower, darker. More desperate. “Every time I called her by her name, I wanted to say yours.”

Your breathing came too fast. This wasn’t fair. Harvey was not supposed to be able to do this to you. Not anymore. He was supposed to be dead to you. He had killed himself in your mind the day he let himself be used, the day he betrayed you.

And yet—

Yet.

You couldn’t move.

Because deep down, a part of you knew—you had thought of him, too. When you weren't with Slade, Harvey consumed your thoughts.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped closer again. “You’re smart, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You always were. Choose carefully.”

You swallowed hard. This wasn't about your family anymore. This was about him and Slade.

“You don’t have to go back to them.” He repeated himself again trying to convince you. His words settled in your bones, heavy, unshakable.

You clenched your jaw again. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Harvey’s eyes flickered, something dark and pleased curling at the edges. And then, voice low, almost dangerous, “Then why are you still with him?”

Your breath hitched. Slade. Your body went rigid.

Harvey took another step closer. Your noses almost touched and you nearly threw yourself into his arms.

“You think he's better than me?”

Your chest tightened. Doubt crept in. You had been so careful. So quiet. Hadn’t you? Harvey saw it. And he smiled.

A slow, knowing smirk. “He’s not going to let you go, he won't give you a choice. I don't blame the man, if I hadn't fucked everything up; I wouldn't let you go either.”

Your stomach dropped. The realization hit you all at once, suffocating, crushing. You hadn’t been careful. You had been playing into Slade’s hands all along.

Because Slade always knew. And if he hadn’t stopped you?

That meant he was letting you dig your own grave. A shiver ran through you.

The moment Harvey’s voice dipped, the second his fingers ghosted over your wrist like a lover’s touch—you should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because part of you needed to hear him say it. Needed to hear him tell you what you already knew.

That he still wanted you. That he never stopped. That you were never meant to be replaced. And it felt amazing to hear the regret in his voice and see the pure longing in his eyes.

The wind curled between you, cold and biting, but Harvey’s presence was stiflingly warm. He was watching you the way he always had; like you belonged to him, like the months between you hadn’t changed a thing. And for the first time all night, you let yourself look at him.

Really look at him.

The scars on the left side of his face had deepened, his two-toned gaze more piercing than before. The weight he carried in his shoulders was heavier, more defined. He was still Harvey, but he wasn’t just Harvey anymore. He had become something darker, something rough around the edges, something broken in a way that made you feel like a piece of you had broken along with him.

You swallowed. “I have to go.” Before you did something you couldn't take back.

Harvey exhaled, slow and deliberate. He nodded, but he didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. But he wasn’t letting you go, either.

“You’re going back to him.” It wasn’t a question. A statement, like he knew it was coming

Your pulse stuttered. “It’s not like that and you know it.” You still felt the need to defend yourself, even though you knew you didn't owe him an explanation.

You still loved him, that much was clear.

Harvey let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Sure it isn’t.”

You took a step back. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say anything to stop you, but his presence curled around you like a shadow, wrapping itself around your spine, keeping you anchored in place. And then his voice dropped. Low. Certain.

“I’m letting you walk away. But I'm not letting you go. Not when we still love each other.”

Your throat tightened. He wasn’t chasing you. Not yet. But you felt it. The promise in his voice. The inevitability. You didn’t respond.

You didn't deny that you still loved him, it was like a child insisting they didn't eat cookies when they have crumbs all over them.

You just turned and forced yourself to walk away.

The apartment was silent when you returned. Slade was waiting, seated in his chair, drink in hand, legs spread, glaring at the walls. He didn’t turn when you entered. Didn’t move when you stepped further inside, carefully shutting the door behind you. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You slipped off your shoes, moving slowly, watching him, waiting. Nothing. No reaction. Just that unshakable stillness. The kind that had always been more dangerous than his anger.

You took a steadying breath. If you didn't speak first, he wouldn't speak at all. “Slade—”

“I knew you’d come back.”

His voice cut through the room, sharp and even. Your fingers curled at your sides. “Of course I came back.”

Now, he looked at you. Finally. And when he did, it felt like a blow. That single eye, cold and assessing, swept over you, taking in every detail, every movement, every breath you tried to keep steady. Then, his lips curved. Slow. Controlled.

“Did he tell you what you wanted to hear? Make you want to run into his loving arms again?”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t let it show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Slade exhaled through his nose, the faintest huff of amusement. “Don’t insult me.”

Your jaw tightened. Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. You weren’t sure if you were waiting for him to snap, or if he was waiting for you to confess. Then, finally—Slade leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, voice lowering into something dangerous.

“Tell me something,” he said lowly.

You didn’t move. “What?”

Slade tilted his head, watching you like he was already playing out the end of this game. “Did you hesitate?”

The words hit harder than they should have. You swallowed. You could lie. You could tell him what he wanted to hear. But it wouldn’t matter. Slade always knew. And that was the worst part.

Slade was quiet for too long. Then—he sighed. Tired. Expectant. And that was worse than anger. You hated when he treated you like this, so indifferent. You liked his anger better, at least then you could get a reaction out of him.

“Take off your coat,” he said. You hesitated. Slade’s expression didn’t shift. “Now.”

Slowly, carefully, you did as he asked, slipping the fabric from your shoulders, letting it drop onto the chair beside you. Slade’s eye flickered toward it. Then, back to you.

You weren’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was looking for something Harvey left behind. Something you didn’t even realize you had carried home with you.

Then, after a long pause—Slade smirked. And it wasn’t kind like the ones you've grown accustomed to.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You stiffened. “Realize what?”

Slade leaned back again, completely relaxed. Like he had already won. “You'll know soon.”

Your breath caught. Where was he going with this? You hated when he spoke like some ancient being and he knew that. He was gonna be insufferable these next few days; he always is when you do something he doesn't like.

“Doesn’t matter where you go,” he continued, his voice so damn certain. His smirk widened, mocking. “You’ll always come back to me.”

Your chest tightened. You hated him. Because he was right. He knew you hated it, too.

You lay awake that night. Not because you couldn’t sleep. Not because Slade was in the other room, making you sleep alone for the first time in months, still awake, waiting, watching, knowing.

But because you couldn’t shake the way Harvey had looked at you before you left. Not angry. Not resentful. Just patient and remorseful. Like he already knew something you didn't.

Slade never brought it up again. Not directly. You weren’t sure if that was worse. You weren't sure if you wanted him to scream at you and demand you never see Harvey Dent again. You would rather anger than the silent treatment.

He didn’t demand answers. He didn’t press the issue. He simply carried on as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t watched you walk through the door smelling like another man’s presence.

That should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. Because Slade didn’t let things go. He let them fester.

It was in the way he touched you now, more deliberate, more possessive. The way his hands lingered a little too long on your waist when he passed you in the kitchen, the way his fingers grazed your wrist, as if reminding you that you were still there, still his.

It was in the way he watched you. He had always been observant, but now it was different. Sharper. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was reading you.

Every twitch of your fingers. Every slight shift in your breathing. Every time you looked over your shoulder without realizing it. You had brought something back from that rooftop, and Slade knew it.

And still, he said nothing. Instead, he tightened his hold.

It was late. The apartment was quiet, but neither of you were asleep. Your back pressed into the cool sheets, heartbeat steady but too aware of the man beside you. It'd been three days since Harvey and Slade was finally sleeping next to you again, but you knew he wasn't truly letting things go.

Slade’s fingers traced slow circles against your wrist, his grip loose but present. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he murmured.

You exhaled, shifting slightly beneath his hold. “And you have?”

A quiet chuckle. “I sleep when I need to.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light of the bedroom. “And when do you need to?” You missed teasing him.

Slade’s smirk was lazy, knowing. “Whenever you’re not around to keep me entertained.”

You rolled your eyes, but he didn’t let you pull away. His grip tightened, just enough to remind you he was there.

“You think too much,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Keeps you restless.”

“Maybe I like thinking,” you shot back booping his nose. You lived to annoy him, to push his buttons in a way only you could get away with.

Slade hummed, shifting to prop himself up on his elbow, still watching you. His fingers trailed down your arm, you would've though he was trying to start something if his movements weren't so slow and calculated.

“What are you thinking about now?” He said reeling you into his trap, his eyes hard. You hated when he tried to trap you. Your pulse skipped. Nothing you said would be the right answer.

Slade’s lips quirked up slightly, but there was something in his expression—something darker, something expectant.

“You can say it,” he mused. “Say his name.”

You were tempted to do it, moan Harvey's name just to piss him off, but that was a line even you knew not to cross. You rolled your eyes, "God, just let it go Slade. It wasn't important."

Why couldn't he just let this go? Slade smirked, mocking. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t break his gaze. Didn’t look away. Because he knew. He always knew. Nothing goes over Slade Wilson's head.

The next morning, you woke up to a message. Not a text. Not a voicemail. A gift.

The small wooden box sat on the kitchen counter, neat, precise. Like it had been waiting for you. Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t heard anyone come in. You hadn’t even felt him. But Harvey had been here. You swallowed, fingers brushing over the lid before carefully lifting it open.

Inside was a single playing card.

The Two of Hearts.

And beneath it—folded carefully, as if it was meant to be unwrapped like some kind of sentimental treasure—was the same scarf he had left before.

Except this time, there was something else. Perfume. Your perfume. It smelled like you and him. Like Harvey had held onto it. Like he had kept it close. Your stomach twisted.

Harvey had been here. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the box, breath coming a little too sharp, too shallow. The walls of the apartment felt smaller. You didn’t hear Slade approach, but you felt him before he spoke.

His voice was smooth, dangerous. “Something I should know about?”

You forced yourself to breathe. “No.”

Slade leaned against the counter, eyeing the box like he already knew exactly who it was from. And then—he laughed. A quiet, amused sound, as if this was a game he had already won. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he said, in the same tone some used when regretting not buying a book before it sold out.

Your stomach dropped. Slade tilted his head, eye still locked on you. “But you wouldn’t have liked that, would you?”

You said nothing.

Slade smirked, shaking his head. “Soft spot for old flames.” He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist. “That’s your problem.”

You clenched your jaw, jerking your arm away. “And what’s yours?”

Slade’s gaze darkened. “I don’t have problems.”

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. Always with the tough guy persona, honestly it must be tiring always acting untouchable. “Right. Sorry, I forgot. Because you don’t feel anything.”

Slade didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, unreadable. His hand reached for your jaw, firm, demanding. His thumb traced your cheek, slow, deliberate. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“I feel plenty.” You swallowed. Slade smirked. “You just don’t like what I feel.”

You stepped back before you could do something stupid. Something that would make you forget about the box on the counter, the scent of Harvey still lingering in the air. Something that would make you forget that you weren’t sure who you were more afraid of losing.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Harvey was right. They were going to find out the full truth soon. And when they did, they would come for you.

Now, a week after your meeting with him, your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Message after message, call after call, each one from Tim Drake-Wayne. All asking you questions about Tiffany, about yourself. About where you were.

Your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled through the texts, hands shaking, stomach twisting itself into knots so tight you thought you might be sick. Of course Tim was the first to figure out something was wrong. He was about five years too late though.

Tim: We need to talk. Please answer. I have questions. About Tiffany..

You could barely breathe. He wanted to investigate, to look deep into Tiffany. Now?

Now, after years of pushing you aside, after ignoring every cry for help, now he wanted to take your warnings seriously.

Your eyes burned, fingers tightening around the phone, your mind screaming at you to respond, to finally say all the things you’d held in your chest for too long.

But you didn’t. Instead, you turned the phone off. You shoved it under the pillow, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to push away the tears, trying to ignore the way your chest ached with something ugly and desperate.

The moment you walked out of the bedroom, you knew he had seen.

Slade was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, gaze heavy with something unreadable. The phone was still buzzing beneath the pillow in the other room, and somehow, you knew he had heard it.

He had been waiting for this. You swallowed, standing stiffly near the doorway, trying to pretend like everything was fine. Slade didn’t say anything at first. He just watched.

“Took him long enough,” he mused, his voice casual, controlled.

You rolled your eyes. He's been bitchy ever since the whole Harvey thing.

Slade’s eye flickered to your hands, still clenched at your sides. “And let me guess—you ignored him.”

You hated how easily he could see through you. You glared at him, jaw tight. “None of your business.”

Slade chuckled, shaking his head, pushing off the counter and closing the distance between you in slow, measured steps.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was lower now, smoother, curling around your spine like a threat disguised as affection. “Everything about you is my business.”

You tensed. Slade reached up, tracing a gloved finger along your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“He’ll keep calling,” he murmured. “He’ll keep begging. He'll figure it out and tell the rest of the little squad and they'll all come running back. Just like your dear old Dent. ” His lips curled into something mocking. “That’s what they do, isn’t it? Make mistakes because they know you'll forgive them?"

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Not to hurt you, just enough to remind you who was in control.

His thumb brushed over your lips, slow, deliberate. “What are you gonna do?”

Your breath hitched. Slade leaned in slightly, voice dropping even lower. Dangerous. “Do you want Tim to tell the others? Want your family back? Want him back? Even after he fucked your sister while you were lying sick in your bed?”

Your throat tightened. He was toying with you. Mocking you, trying to hurt you. Making you say it. And you didn’t want to say it. Because you didn’t know. Your family had been your world.For so long, all you wanted was to be seen.

To be loved.

To be something more than just a ghost standing in the background, watching them fawn over someone who had stolen everything from you. And Harvey gave that to you, before he betrayed you.

And now, he was sorry. Soon, they would all know the truth and be sorry.

The emotions clawed at your throat.

You wanted to scream at Tim. Tell him it was too late. Tell them that he could never fix this. No amount of investigating and apologies could make up for years of neglect.

But another part of you, the part that still ached for their love, the part that still wanted them to prove you wrong,

That part whispered, “What if?” What if when they found out the truth, they would love you? What if this time, they actually stayed?

What if this was your chance to finally have the family you always wanted?

The war inside your head made you dizzy. And Slade knew it. He was still holding you, still keeping you rooted to him, while your world spun out of control. After a long, suffocating silence, Slade finally sighed. “You’re a mess.”

You glared at him, pushing away from his grip. “Fuck you.”

Slade chuckled, unfazed. “You do it almost every night.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "You're a child, you know that?"

You turned away, grabbing a glass from the counter, hands still shaking slightly as you filled it with water. You weren’t thirsty, but you needed something—anything—to keep yourself grounded.

Slade leaned against the counter again, watching you with amusement, but something deeper lurked beneath it. Then, in a voice so casual it almost didn’t register, “I’ll make him stop. I'll make them both stop.”

The glass almost slipped from your fingers. You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What?”

Slade shrugged, like it was nothing. “You don’t want to deal with them. You don’t want to make a decision. So I’ll make it for you.”

Your breath caught. Slade never dealt with things peacefully, he got rid of problems permanately. “You can’t just—”

“I can.” His smirk deepened. “And I will.”

Your stomach twisted. Because the worst part was; you weren’t sure if you were relieved or horrified. Because Slade was right. You didn’t want to make a choice. You wanted someone to do it for you.

And Slade was more than happy to take that burden.

The first thing you noticed the next morning was the silence. No more buzzing. No more messages lighting up your screen. Slade had done it.

He hadn’t waited for you to argue. Hadn’t given you the choice. By the time you checked your phone, every number had been blocked. Every contact erased like they had never existed at all.

And maybe that’s what Slade wanted.

For them to be nothing but ghosts in your past. A clean break. A fresh start. So why did it feel like your chest was splitting open?

You had spent years craving their attention. Years begging for even a scrap of love. And now? Now you had the chance to get it. And you ignored it. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need them. That you had spent too long chasing something that was never meant to be yours.

And yet, as you stood in the quiet of the apartment, phone gripped too tight in your hands, you ached. Because you had wanted them to fight for you.

Slade had left that morning, his usual teasing smirk in place, but there had been something off.

Maybe it was the fact that his mission was dragging out longer than expected.

Maybe it was the way his fingers had lingered under your chin before he left, thumb brushing over your jaw like he was making sure you were still his.

Or maybe it was the way he had muttered, “Be good while I’m gone, sweetheart.” as you kissed him goodbye.

Like he already knew you wouldn’t be. Like he already knew something was coming. The apartment felt too big without him. His absence wasn’t something you should have noticed.

But you did.

It was in the empty space beside you when you sat on the couch. The extra portion of dinner you made out of habit. The lack of footsteps behind you. The missing weight of his presence pressing against your world, keeping you safe.

It was the first time in months you had been truly alone. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You took a nice, long, hot, shower, trying to dull the ache below your hips. You and Slade had sex last night, but somehow you were already wanting more. It was like your body could sense his absense.

You stood under the hot water, letting the steam curl around your skin, letting the heat scald away the thoughts clawing at your mind.

Maybe Slade was right. Maybe it was easier to just let go.

There was a sound. Soft. Distant. A creak where there shouldn’t be one. You wouldn't have heard it, wouldn't have sensed the body heat if you didn't have your powers. Your heart stopped. You turned off the water immediately, listening.

Nothing.

Maybe it was just—

Another creak. Closer this time. You swallowed, pulse hammering, every nerve in your body screaming at you that something was wrong. Slade was gone.

No one should be here. But you weren’t alone.

The second you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your damp skin, fangs reader and a knife in your hand, you felt him.

The shift in the air. The weight of someone watching. And then, his voice.

“Gotta admit,” Harvey mused, voice smooth, mocking, as if he had any right to be angry “didn’t think you’d be the type to shack up with a guy like him.”

Your stomach dropped. You turned sharply, eyes darting across the room, breath catching in your throat when you saw him.

Sitting on your bed. On Slade’s bed.

Harvey was leaning back against the headboard, one leg crossed over the other, looking far too comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t the intruder in this equation.

Harvey sat there like he hadn’t broken in, hadn’t shattered what little peace you had left. The moment you stepped out of the shower, still dripping, wrapped only in a towel, you knew, he was waiting for you.

Your fingers clenched around the towel’s edge, jaw tight, pulse pounding.

"You’ve got some fucking nerve," you muttered, stepping further into the room, closing the distance between you and him.

Harvey leaned back against the pillows, one arm draped lazily over the headboard, watching you with something smug, something knowing.

"Had to see you," he said simply. Like it was normal. Like it was nothing.

Your stomach twisted. It was never nothing with Harvey.

"And let me guess," you bit back. "You just let yourself in."

His smirk widened. "Door was unlocked, it’s not breaking and entering if you used to live together."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Bullshit. That’s exactly what it is, Dent. We don't like together anymore. Never did officially either."

Harvey didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze slid lower. Over the damp strands of your hair. Over your throat. Your collarbone. Your bare legs.

You knew that look. It made something ugly stir inside you.

He looked at you, gaze slow, deliberate, taking in every inch of you. The damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. The way the towel barely covered enough to keep you decent.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t stop on my account. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

Your fingers clenched around the towel, pulse thundering. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harvey let out a quiet chuckle, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Relax, sweetheart. Just thought I’d drop by. Say hello. You wouldn’t answer your phone, so I figured—” he spread his arms in mock innocence, “—why not pay a visit?”

You hated how calm he was. How easy he made it look. Like he hadn’t just broken into your home. Like he hadn't broken your heart. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, heart hammering against your ribs. Slade was gone. Gone.

No one was coming. But you could handle yourself. And Harvey knew it. His eyes flickered down your body again, this time slow, calculating. Looking at all the marks and love bites Slade had left the night before. “You always did have a thing for older men,” he mused.

Your jaw clenched. Low blow.

Harvey smirked. “What’s the matter? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Thought you could just run off and play house with Gotham’s favorite mercenary and I’d let it slide?” He tsked, almost disappointed. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You glared at him. Where did he get the audacity? “You don’t own me. Especially not now. Especially not after what you did. Your apology didn't change anything. You've got no right to be here.”

Harvey’s expression darkened, but only for a second. Then he grinned. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was thinking about him.”

Your stomach twisted. Because you knew what he was doing. He wanted you off balance. He wanted you to doubt. It was working. Because a part of you—a part you hated—was already wondering what Slade would do when he found out. Because he would find out. How jealous would he be? Would he finally drop the whole nonchalant act, ask you to be official?

Harvey’s smirk widened. “You think he’s coming back soon? You waiting for him? That's real cute princess.”

Your throat tightened. “He'll be back tomorrow.”

Harvey shrugged, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How missions can just drag out longer than expected?” His grin turned sharp. Cruel. “Would be a real shame if something happened to keep him… occupied.”

Your blood froze. Harvey watched you, waiting for the realization to sink in. He knew. He knew Slade wasn’t coming home anytime soon.

Your fingers curled into fists and suddenly you were on top of him, fangs bared, “What did you do?”

Harvey simply leaned back, enjoying himself and the view of your almost naked body on top of him. He turned his neck, as if trying to give you more access to him.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “Now, now. Don’t go blaming me. I didn’t lift a finger.” His grin widened. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who did.”

Your breath was coming too fast, too shallow, panic creeping up your spine. Slade was gone. Harvey was here. You were trapped. And Harvey knew it. Your pulse pounded. Slade was gone. Harvey was here.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pinning him down harder against the mattress, your fangs bared, breath coming in sharp, furious exhales.

"What did you do?" you hissed again, voice low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained rage.

Harvey smirked up at you, completely unbothered. His eyes gleamed with that same smug amusement, like he was playing with his food.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured, voice infuriatingly smooth, teasing. "No need to get all worked up."

You pressed your thighs against his sides, pinning him harder. "Answer me, Harvey."

He let out a slow breath, his smirk twitching, dark amusement flickering across his features. "You always were so determined. I love that about you."

Your fingers tightened, nearly scratching his back, sharp acrylics pressing into his skin through the fabric of his white button down. You didn't want to hurt him, not badly at least.

"Tell me why Slade’s mission is taking so long," you demanded, your weight pressing down on him, your legs gripping him tighter.

Harvey’s hands moved then; sliding slowly up your thighs, gripping just hard enough to make your breath catch.

"You really think I’m gonna make this easy for you?" he murmured, voice dropping to something lower, something thicker with something he wasn’t bothering to hide.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping down your spine, twisting through your limbs. He knew. He felt it.

His smirk widened, his hips shifting beneath you just slightly.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Throbbing. Pressing against the thin fabric of his slacks, against the barely-there barrier of your towel. You nearly moaned, stop being a slut, you tried to tell yourself.

You froze, just for a second. And Harvey noticed.

You were straddling him, baring your venomous fangs. You could kill him. And he was hard. You could feel it, it was impossible not to, thick, twitching against your inner thigh, pressed right against you.

Your powers didn’t help. They never fucking did. The second you got close enough to feel body heat, it was over. It was a constant hum under your skin, that ache, that need, clawing at your sanity. Your towel barely clinging to your damp skin, the heat of his body seeping into yours, you didn't know how much longer you could hold on.

He let out a low, pleased chuckle, his good hand settling on your waist, just barely gripping. "Didn’t know you missed me this much, sweetheart. Thought you were over me?"

Your nails dug into his chest even harder, but he didn’t flinch. He never fucking did. "Tell me where Slade is," you demanded.

Harvey hummed, mocking. "You sure you wanna talk about him right now?" His fingers flexed against your skin, his smirk widening as he shifted slightly beneath you again. "Because from where I’m sitting, you got bigger problems."

Your breath hitched, and you hated it. Hated the way your traitorous body reacted to him. Hated the way he felt so familiar.

His gaze flickered, taking in the flush on your skin, the way your thighs squeezed involuntarily around him. He felt it too. The heat. The tension. The pull that never really disappeared, no matter how many times you had tried to convince yourself that you were done with him.

"You always were greedy," Harvey murmured, tilting his head, eyes dark with something wicked. He was loving this. "You just can’t get enough, can you?"

Suddenly, you were angry at him again. You remembered Tiffany. Your grip tightened around his wrists, holding him down, pressing harder into him, and his smirk twitched, just slightly.

Good. Let him fucking squirm. "You still think you have control here?" you whispered, lowering your head, your breath grazing the sharp line of his jaw.

His breathing faltered. Just for a second. Just enough.

Then, just as quickly, his lips curled again, sharp and taunting.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice deep, smug, full of sin. "As long as youre on top of me or under me, I don't give a shit who's in control."

Your entire body tensed. Your nails dragged down his chest, slow, teasing, right over his shirt. You could feel his heartbeat pounding beneath your fingertips, fast, erratic, out of sync with the smug bastard act he was putting on.

He was burning for you. Just as much as you were for him. But you weren’t going to give in.

"You still think you can do whatever you want to me?" you whispered, leaning in, letting your lips hover just over his.

Harvey’s eyes flickered. A muscle in his jaw ticked. And for the first time since he had shown up, his smirk finally fucking dropped.

You grinned. Then you moved your hips and ran your fingers up and down his chest.

Harvey cursed sharply through his teeth, his grip on your waist tightening instantly, fingers digging into your skin like a vice. His dick twitched against you through his slacks, so fucking hard and aching that you could almost feel the pulse of it.

You let out a slow, breathy chuckle. "Guess you do still want me, huh?"

Harvey’s breathing was uneven. "Careful," he rasped, voice lower, darker, more dangerous now. "You’re playing a real stupid game, princess."

"Why?" you taunted, grinded your hips again, watching the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to snap. "Because you can’t handle it? Because you can’t handle me?"

It was fun being in control. Slade never let you do whatever you wanted to him, barely ever in the bedroom. You loved control, especially when it meant having a man at your mercy beneath you.

Harvey’s eyes flashed. Then, he flipped you. Fast. Brutal.

You barely had time to react before you were the one beneath him , your towel barely hanging onto your body, his hand locked around your wrist, pinning you down, his body hovering over yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His breathing was hard, uneven, tense.

"You really think I don’t know what you’re doing?" he murmured, so close now.

Your chest heaved. You got too cocky, too confident, and now you were paying the price, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Harvey laughed softly, mocking, brushing his nose against yours. "Liar."

You swallowed, pulse hammering.

"You love this," he said, voice like gravel against your skin. "The attention. The desperation and groveling. You love seeing me beg. The way you talk like you want to kill me, and the next second," his lips ghosted your cheek, his cock pressing hard against your thigh, "you’re grinding against me like a fucking addict."

Your breath hitched. His grip tightened.

"He ever let you get on top?" he murmured, lips just barely grazing yours.

Your stomach twisted. "Don't."

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Did you think about me when he had you at first? Did you close your eyes and pretend it was my hands on you even after I broke your heart? Should I tell him that?"

Your nails dug into his shoulder, your body betraying you, the heat between your legs only getting worse, stronger, overwhelming, unbearable.

"You wish," you rasped, but it sounded too breathless, too shaky.

Harvey smirked. He knew. "Say you don’t miss me," he challenged.

You clenched your jaw, turning your head away, trying to ignore the way your body burned beneath his.

"Say it," he demanded.

You tried to, but the words wouldn't come out.

Harvey hummed. Then, his fingers slid lower, trailing along your bare thigh, teasing the hem of the towel.

"Yeah," he mused, smug and cruel. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers flexed against your thighs, his grip tightening.

"Little desperate, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with something smug, something rough.

You scoffed, but your heart was hammering, your body betraying you. "If I was desperate," you whispered, leaning forward until your lips were just barely brushing against his, taunting, teasing. "You’d already be inside me."

Harvey let out a low groan. He flipped you back around, giving you full control. Letting you be on top. You lost yourself for a moment, lost the plot. You melted into him and began kissing his neck slowly and unbuttoning his shirt as you slowly moved against him. But then, you saw the picture frame you hung of you and Slade, right behind Harvey.

Slade made you take down all the photos whenever he went away on a mission, in case someone broke in and saw them, and decided to hurt you to get back at him. It was the only one you refused to remove.

It was of you and him, two months ago. Slade had a mission in Paris and he let you tag along, after you were done, you made him go to an ice cream shop. Some sweet old man asked if you wanted a picture together, Slade wasn't smiling, barely even smirking, but you could see the happiness in his eyes as he had his arms around your waist, looking down at you.

You felt nauseous, all the arousal you felt was gone. You were a whore. How could you do this to Slade? You stopped moving as your eyes watered, what if Harvey had done something to him?

Harvey's hands snapped up, gripping your hips, grinding you down onto him. He wasn't gonna let you stop now.

"Fuck, baby, I forgot how good you are at this. Don't stop, please." he exhaled, almost begging, his jaw tightening, his cock pulsing against you.

You bit your lip, trying to fight the heat clawing through your body, the way your nerves lit up at the sheer pressure of him beneath you. It felt so good. You were horny again. But you could use this to your advantage, Harvey wanted you even more that you wanted him.

"Tell me," you whispered, rolling your hips just slightly, torturing him. "Tell me what you mean when you say Slade's occupied.."

Harvey’s smirk curled, his hands dragging you down harder, making you feel every inch of him. " What’s it worth to you?"

Your breath hitched. Harvey’s fingers trailed up your back, slow, possessive, teasing. "You wanna make sure your merc comes back in one piece?"

You swallowed hard, your body thrumming with frustration, anger, something else. All control you had was slipping, your powers were making you horny but they weren't working. Harvey wasn't listening to what you told him to do.

"Make me happy, sweetheart. If I’m happy," his smirk deepened, his voice dripping with dark amusement. " the bastard stays alive."

Your chest tightened, heat roaring up your spine, burning you from the inside out. You hated him. You wanted him. You needed to keep Slade alive. Harvey’s hands slid lower, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles into your skin.

"Make a decision, pretty girl, his flight leaves soon." he murmured, his dick twitched against you, heavy with need. God, how could he be horny while threatening your teacher/ mentor /situationship's life?

You couldn’t lose Slade.

So you kissed him. Hard. Desperate.

Harvey groaned against your lips, his hands flying up to grip your waist, dragging you down harder against him, practically trying to merge your bodies together.

"That’s my girl," he muttered, his voice rough, victorious, possessive.

Your stomach burned with shame, with need, with something twisted and terrible. You hated him. You loved him.

You needed Slade to live.

But you couldn't do this to Slade, couldn't betray him on the bed you shared every night. He would be livid, what would he do in this situation? Probably kill Harvey. But you weren't Slade, you weren't as brave or as cruel as him.

So you did what you do best: You ran.

You jumped off of Harvey, punching him in the nose, still only in your towel that somehow stayed on, and shut the bedroom door in his face. You had powers, you were faster than Harvey, maybe even stronger than him. You made it to the front door in seconds, but your heart dropped as you saw the three new deadbolts.

Fucking Slade. You debated letting him die at that point.

Suddenly, you felt him behind you, grabbing you and pinning you against the door.

“Goddamn,” He laughed, amused, mocking, “you really thought that would work?”

You snarled, struggling harder, but he didn’t budge. His grip only tightened.

“Let me go, Harvey.”

His breath hitched at the way you said his name. Not Dent. Not Two-Face. Not some alias meant to keep distance. Just Harvey.

And it made something in his chest clench. His fingers flexed, his other hand dragging up your spine in a slow, deliberate motion, making you shudder.

“You always run, don’t you?” His voice was low, smooth—but there was something dangerous beneath it. “Always running from someone.”

His grip tightened on your wrists, pressing them into the wall, “From them. From me. From yourself.”

You hated how well he knew you. You hated that he was right. You hated how he got you into bed willingly even as the guilt ate you up. You hated how good he made you feel, how you couldn't bring yourself to say no. If you did, he would stop, and you didn't want that.

"Don't act like you don't want me now. You were all over me not even a minute ago." He sneered, as he ripped off your towel like it offended him.

You didn't know how many times you came, or how long you went for. You felt so good, but somehow you've never felt worse. Even as Harvey made you scream his name, you thought of how Slade would react.

You felt even worse as the night wore on, and instead of rough sex, you began to make love. Harvey buried his face in your neck as he muttered apologies, still buried inside you, and swore he would make it up to you.

You began to cry, it felt so good. But it was so wrong, so disgusting.

And you knew you never felt true regret until you woke up the next morning in Harvey Dent's arms, naked on the bed you slept on with Slade Wilson.

WHAT YALL THINK?? 1-10?? ALSO COMMENT DOWN BELOW TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere harvey dent #yandere slade wilson #platonic yandere batman #yandere jason todd x reader

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hyuniemyunie · 1 day ago

Note

Hi!!! OMG such a big fan of your instincts/nuzzling one shot you did for shadow. Idk if you’ve done this before but if you haven’t, could you do Shadow x trader, circling the reader? Honestly you can do whatever else you want for the rest of it, I just want more media about hedgehogs circling their mates hehe 😊🥰

Orbit ⋆˚࿔

Shadow the hedgehog x gn reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): gn reader, established relationship, nuzzling nudging circling..allat

HIIII IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY STUFF( ´∀`) i also maaaay go a little overboard w them cuz why is this so long

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

It started with a feeling.

A strange, creeping sensation at the edge of your awareness—like being watched, but not in an uncomfortable way. More like a presence. A quiet, unwavering force lingering just outside your immediate space. You had been sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch, minding your own business. The air was comfortably cool, the low hum of the television serving as background noise while you scrolled absentmindedly on your phone. Everything was perfectly normal. Or at least, it should have been.

But something felt… off. Not in a bad way. Just… weird.

The feeling intensified. A quiet awareness, like someone pacing just beyond your peripheral vision. You looked up. Shadow was there.

That wasn’t unusual—he was always somewhere nearby, lurking in that quiet, ever-watchful way of his after everything he went through, still not fully believing that he could just..be. But tonight? Tonight, he was acting… different.

He wasn’t sitting on the armrest of the couch like he normally would. He wasn’t standing near the window, keeping an eye on the outside world. He wasn’t even hovering in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking stoic as ever.

No.

He was circling you.

Slow. Measured. Purposeful.

His movements were silent, barely making a sound against the floor. His crimson eyes flickered in the dim light, unwavering, focused. Every few seconds, he would glance at you—quick, assessing—before continuing his path.

Around.

And around.

You blinked. “Uh… Shadow?”

He didn’t answer.

His gaze flickered to yours for a brief moment, and instead of stopping, he did something that made your breath hitch. As he passed by the couch, he nudged you. It was subtle—just the briefest brush of his muzzle against your shoulder before he pulled back and resumed his quiet, deliberate pacing. You blinked again, okay. That was weird.

“…Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly, twisting slightly to follow his movement with your eyes.

No response. He passed behind the couch again, circling like a silent predator. But he wasn’t predatory. His posture was too… relaxed. Not tense, not aggressive. Just persistent.

And then, as he passed by once more— Nudge.

This time against your upper arm. Your face scrunched in confusion. What the hell was he doing?

“You’re being weird,” you finally blurted.

Shadow exhaled sharply—something between a sigh and a huff—but he still didn’t answer. Instead, he nuzzled the top of your head as he passed, just briefly, just enough for you to feel the warmth of his fur before he pulled away again. Your brain short-circuited.

What.

WHAT.

You sat there, frozen, feeling your heartbeat pick up in a way that was not normal. Shadow was not the type to just—just nuzzle you out of nowhere. Sure, he had his rare moments of affection, but they were always brief, casual, barely there. He tolerated your hugs, occasionally let you cling to him, but this? This was deliberate, intentional, and he wasn’t stopping.

Around.

And around.

Nudge. Nuzzle. Circle.

You felt your breath hitch again. “Okay, seriously, what's happening right now?”

Still, he said nothing. Just a low hum in his throat, almost content, like he was fully aware of what he was doing and had no intention of explaining it. Your fingers twitched in your lap, this was going to bother you. You weren’t an idiot—Shadow wasn’t exactly the type to do something without reason. He was calculated. Everything he did had purpose.

So why was he—

Another nuzzle.

You practically jumped. “SHADOW.”

He finally stopped, just for a second. Standing at the edge of the couch, he tilted his head slightly, looking at you with a gaze that was unreadable but strangely… expectant, making your stomach flip.

You stared at him. He stared back.

“…What,” you said flatly.

No answer.

He held your gaze for another moment before he resumed circling.

You let out a strangled noise. Okay. Okay. You were going insane. That was the only explanation. Unless—

You hesitated, unless this actually means something..?

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought. You had been with Shadow long enough to pick up on some of his behaviors—his silent protectiveness, the way he always positioned himself between you and potential threats, the subtle ways he would linger close when he thought you needed comfort. But this? This was different.

Slowly, your gaze flickered toward your phone, still resting on the couch beside you, you hesitated again. Then, carefully, you reached for it. Shadow immediately nudged your hand.

Your breath hitched again. “Oh my god.”

His gaze didn’t waver, he was for sure doing this on purpose. Hand trembling slightly, you unlocked your phone and opened your browser.

Okay. Okay. Think.

What was he doing? Circling. Nudging. Nuzzling. He had never done this before, at least not this blatantly, your fingers hovered over the search bar before you swallowed hard and typed,

"Why do hedgehogs circle people?"

A beat of silence.

Then—

You clicked the first result.

Your eyes skimmed the page.

And then—

You froze. Your face went hot. Your pulse skyrocketed. Your stomach dropped.

Oh.

OH.

Your hands shot up to your face, pressing against your burning cheeks. Shadow. The Ultimate Lifeform. The strongest, most terrifying, most powerful being in existence who saved earth.

Was.

Flirting with you.

You made a choked noise, glancing at him. He was still circling, completely unfazed. This wasn’t just some weird behavior. This wasn’t just him being strange.

THIS WAS A MATING DISPLAY.

You were going to pass out. Shadow, completely unaware of your impending mental breakdown, nuzzled your arm again. You sat there, frozen, your phone screen dimming as your brain tried—tried—to process the absolute insanity of what you had just read, shadow was flirting with you, not just flirting—he was displaying hedgehog courtship behaviors.

Hedgehogs—actual, real-life, non-ultimate-lifeform-almost-destroyed-earth-but-then-saved-it hedgehogs—circulated their potential mates, nudging, nuzzling, lingering in their space as a way of bonding.

And Shadow was doing it to you. Your fingers curled around your phone as your entire body flared with heat, an uncontrollable mix of emotions flooding you at once. Shadow, meanwhile, was still completely unaware of your crisis. He continued his slow, deliberate orbit, eyes flickering toward you every so often, reading your reactions, gauging your movements. He nudged your shoulder again—light, brief, warm—before making his way behind the couch once more.

He exhaled softly.

Good.

It was working.

This wasn’t something he had ever done before, nor was it something he had ever thought he’d feel the urge to do. And yet, as the evening dragged on, as he watched you curled up on the couch—content, relaxed, safe—a quiet restlessness had stirred inside him. At first, he had ignored it. But the longer he sat there, the worse it got.

It was a pull. Something instinctive, something old, buried in the genetic makeup of what he was—what he was made from. It had no name, no clear purpose, but the second he found himself moving, it all clicked into place. His body knew before he did, he had begun circling you without realizing.

And the moment he had leaned in—just slightly—just enough to brush against your shoulder, to nuzzle the top of your head, to breathe in the faint warmth of your scent— Something inside him settled, as if it had been waiting for him to act on it, as if this was something he had been meant to do.

He didn’t fight it, didn’t want to fight it.

For once in his life, Shadow allowed himself to be guided by something other than logic, than battle instinct, than the need for control. He allowed himself to follow the motion.

To move around you, to orbit you and to..feel at home in your presence. And it wasn’t until your breath suddenly hitched—sharp, strangled—that something in his chest tensed.

Shadow slowed, his ear flicked, you were reacting differently now. Your entire body had stiffened. Your hands had curled into tight fists, your phone gripped so hard that he swore he could hear the faint creak of plastic under pressure.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“…What?” he murmured, pausing in his steps.

You visibly jumped, and that was the first red flag. Shadow straightened slightly, his gaze scrutinizing. You were still hunched forward, your phone pressed against your face, hiding your expression, something was off.

You had been giggling, teasing, smiling just minutes ago. But now?

Now your entire demeanor had changed.

Shadow inhaled carefully, catching the sharp shift in your scent. Your heartrate had spiked, your breath had gone uneven, and—

…Wait.

Why were your ears so red?

His gaze flickered downward. Your fingers twitched slightly, trembling, and— And then it hit him, aslow realization, something was wrong. Not wrong in a dangerous way—no, no, this was something else. This was something human, something he didn’t fully understand.

“…What’s the matter?” he asked carefully.

You physically shrank into yourself, making shadow frown. His arms crossed over his chest, posture rigid. His instincts flared again, this time in confusion rather than intent. His mind raced through possibilities—had he done something wrong? Had he triggered some unknown reaction he wasn’t aware of?

Had he… misunderstood this?

Had he misread the way you touched him? The way you held him at night? The way you laughed when he let you pull him into hugs, or when you played with his hands, or when you buried your face against his fur just to feel his warmth?

Was this—

Had he—

Did he just ruin something?

His jaw tightened slightly, an old, bitter habit.

“…Did I—” He hesitated, something uncharacteristically unsure in his tone. “…Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Your head snapped up as your eyes widened.

“No! No—oh my god, no,” you sputtered, looking absolutely horrified. “That’s not it!”

Shadow’s frown deepened. “…Then explain.”

You made a choked noise, hands flying to your face again. Your body curled inward, shaking slightly, and he could tell you were fighting the urge to scream. His instincts bristled again.

“…My love.”

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, as if physically trying to contain yourself. Your breathing was all over the place now.

Shadow took a single step forward. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

And then, you lost it. You made a sound—somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, something overwhelmed, something embarrassed, something unbelievably flustered.

And then, finally—finally—you blurted it out.

“YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH ME.”

Silence.

The words hung in the air, frozen, suspended between you both like a loaded gun, shadow’s expression did not change. His body, however, went completely, utterly still.

“…Excuse me?”

You let out another strangled noise, looking like you wanted to sink into the couch and disappear forever.

“I—” You inhaled sharply, gripping your phone. “I just—I didn’t realize at first, but you’re—you’re doing, like, actual hedgehog mating behaviors—”

Shadow froze, making you clamp your mouth shut. The room went dead silent. A heartbeat passed. Then another. Then, slowly, Shadow’s eyes narrowed.

“…What?”

He took a single step forward, making you shrink back, shadow’s pupils contracted slightly, crimson irises sharp.

“What do you mean,” he said carefully, tone low, calculated, dangerous in a way that made your stomach flip— “by ‘mating behaviors’?”

You shoved your phone screen at him, he snatched it immediately. His gaze flickered downward, scanning the words at a speed far too fast for you to process. His expression remained unreadable, but you could tell—oh, you could tell—

His mind had just been completely, utterly shattered.

Another silence.

Then, very, very softly—

“…Oh.”

His arms lowered. His body tensed, his eyes widened just slightly. And finally—finally—Shadow realized.

He had no fucking idea what he was doing.

Oh.

That was all his mind could supply. Just oh.

Shadow stared at your phone screen, golden eyes flicking over the words again and again, as if trying to disprove them through sheer force of will. But no. No, the information was there. Plain as day.

Hedgehogs—actual hedgehogs—engaged in specific behaviors when courting a mate.

Circling. Nuzzling. Nudging. Purring.

Shadow had done all of that without knowing why—without questioning the instinct, without stopping himself. He had just moved, had just done it.

Because it felt right. Because it felt natural. Because his body knew before he did.

And now… now he knew why.

His fingers curled slightly around your phone, he was going to implode.

“…Shadow?”

Your voice was softer now. Not the flustered mess you had been moments ago, not the horrified realization that had made you shove your phone at him in a panic, this was different, it was gentle.

Shadow swallowed thickly, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the room had shifted.

The frantic energy was gone. The teasing, the stunned disbelief—all of it had melted away into something quieter. Something warmer.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted his gaze to you, you were looking at him softly, too softly.

His chest tightened.

“…You didn’t know, did you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Shadow exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tight.

“…No.”

You smiled. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just… soft. His stomach flipped. And then, before he could process it, before he could tell his body to move, to pull away, to do anything but what he was about to do—

You reached out, and touched him. A slow, delicate motion—fingers brushing over his cheek, barely there, barely a whisper of contact.

Shadow froze.

A sharp, involuntary breath left him, but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away, couldn’t. His entire body shut down.

It was a gentle touch. So unlike battle. So unlike pain. So unlike everything he had been created for, he felt warm beneath your fingers, he felt real.

“…It’s okay,” you murmured.

Shadow exhaled shakily, and then—without thinking, without meaning to—A sound left him, a low, deep rumble from his throat. Something instinctual, uncontrollable, something like a purr.

Your eyes widened slightly, shadow’s entire body went rigid, again.

…Did he just—

Did he just—

No. No, that didn’t happen, that didn’t happen. Except it did. And you heard it, and he knew you heard it.

And now he was going to have to live with the fact that you knew the Ultimate Lifeform just fucking purred because you touched him.

He was going to self-destruct.

“…Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes shining.

Shadow immediately turned away, he was never recovering from this.

“…Forget that happened,” he muttered stiffly.

You didn’t, you never would, it's not like you could just forget your own fucking boyfriend purring for you. With how much he went through, with how the doctor had used him to reach his goals, and with how he saved earth? goddammit, he could have this, let the man purr.

Your fingers brushed over his cheek again, gentle, barely there, and Shadow felt it again—the quiet, low hum in his throat, the instinctual sound of comfort, of contentment, but he clenched his fists, forcing it back down.

You giggled—soft this time. Sweet.

“Shadow,” you whispered.

He refused to look at you.

“…Shadow,” you tried again, tilting your head.

No.

No, he was not doing this, he had already embarrassed himself beyond repair, he was done, he was going to leave the planet immediately, the moon again, maybe?

And then, quietly, gently, lovingly—

You whispered,

“I love you.”

Shadow stopped breathing, the words hit something deep, something raw, omething he wasn’t ready for—but always wanted to hear.

His fists unclenched..before his entire body relaxed, and before he could think, before he could stop himself—

He turned back, and nuzzled you, slow, deliberate.

His muzzle pressed against the crook of your neck, warm, real, here.

“…I love you, too,” he murmured.

And then—without a single ounce of shame—

He purred.

Loudly.

For you.

For you only.

And for the first time, Shadow the Hedgehog let himself be loved.

#gender neutral reader #gn reader #gn!reader #shadow x you #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog

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barrenclan · 2 days ago

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i feel a bit bad for cormorant :( im sure this isnt your intent but it almost feels as though hes settled for a life he didnt want

I'm curious what this is in response to - there's two major things I can think of, so let me explore them for a second!

So, if this is in response to the idea that Cormorantleaf wants kittens and Pinewing doesn't; lemme talk about that for a second. I tried to go into it in the last epilogue, but with their late-stage relationship I wanted to address a trope in fiction that really bothers me, especially as someone who doesn't want to have children. Stop me if you've heard it before:

Characters A and B are in a romantic relationship. Character A wants to have kids, but B doesn't, for whatever reason. They struggle, and talk about it, and eventually A says "it's okay, even if we don't have kids, I'll still love you!" It's really nice, and confirms that they love each other even if they don't want. Except, then, B turns around and says "it's so good to know that! It made me change my mind; I got over my 'fears', and now I do want kids!"

That bugs me. It's always the assumption, even if it's established that a relationship would be okay without kids, it's always on the onus of the person who doesn't want children to change their mind. It's never enough to stop at "it's okay if we don't have kids together" - and then they don't. So that's what I wanted to do with Cormorantleaf and Pinewing's relationship, and it's why I had Pinewing talk about his discomfort surrounding children so often and Cormorantleaf's potential to be a father. If Corm wanted kids more than he wanted to be with Pine - he could leave! No stopping him. But Pinewing matters more to him than having kids does. I find it more distasteful that someone would force themselves to raise children if they didn't want to (it's almost like that's a theme of the story... and kind of exactly what happened with Nightberry). Admittedly, I would've liked to rather do that idea with Daffodilcloud and Duncan instead of the main gay couple, but eh, I already had an end-of-arc theme with Daff to wrap up that would've clashed. These are the decisions you make when writing a story.

On the other hand, if this is in response to the idea that they're traveling around instead of settling down in one place, or that Pinewing is forcing him into the relationship; maybe I was a bit too subtle with what I was trying to get across. Cormorantleaf was actually the first one to suggest that they travel around together, way back in Issue 26:

Corm needs an emotional anchor more than a physical anchor. And this was especially clear in his early development, and how his relationship to Pinepaw was a bit unhealthy (and vice versa, too); he had such intense abandonment issues that he was holding Pinepaw up as a total pillar of support, and believed he wouldn't be able to survive without him.

That's why I wanted Cormorantleaf to have a chance to be on his own during the breakup, and solidfy that he could exist without a relationship, that he didn't need another person to survive. But instead that he could willingly choose a relationship with Pinewing, because it was something he wanted and something he thought would enrich his life rather than an obligation.

All that to say that Comorantleaf's hesitation in the last epilogue is not meant to be presented as "he's being forced into something he doesn't want by Pinewing", but rather "he's scared that them traveling around will cause Pinewing to abandon him, and that makes him panic and lash out".

And Pinewing would have absolutely stayed with him even after Cormorantleaf yelled at him, except that Corm happened to hit on Pinewing's own insecurities that come from his childhood of neglect and feelings that nobody actually wants him around:

You don't have to be un-anonymous to respond to this, and anyways if it's just personal feelings that's perfectly valid and not something I want to try and change. But I never meant to make it seem like Cormorantleaf wasn't happy with where he ended up, or that he 'settled' for something he didn't want.

#ask #anon #cormorantpaw #pinepaw #analysis #didn't know if i'd get another ask that would allow me to yap about these topics so forgive me if this is more than you wanted

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discountsoysauce · 2 days ago

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Nonono but the best part about the whole scene from Owen's pov is watching his facecam as he truly embodies the character. His hand gestures and facial expressions as he moves across the camera are s o good and correct. I'm so glad he puts facecam on for his Realm stuff bc his character is 100% better for it.

This is CRAZY !!!

#can you tell i love tr!owen #hes such a bad dude i love him dearly #i want to watch him tear this world apart #im glad he didnt do what he originally said he would and make a new character after his death #bc i v much wanna see this arc conclude #and i dont think anyone else really does end up making new characters after losing all their lives #so it would make less sense for him to do that #at least until the Jester story is played out #one thing i am a little worried about is how his story is gonna conclude #bc his goal is to kill the king #but #the king will just. come back #so #from a story standpoint im not sure how he plans to get around that #or how he plans to lose in a satisfying way now that hes already established that death doesnt concern him #basically what cc!owen was saying about wanting the lives system to have actual weight story wise #but idk whatever Owen's cooking up im excited for it

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darlingdaisyfarm · 22 hours ago

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I love your blog sm, please never leave us 🙏 if it’s not a big problem, could I req headcanons or fic bout drunk!Ford and drunk!Stan x reader 👀 nsfw <3

∘˚₊· ʚ🍻ɞ ·₊˚∘ drunk!Stanley x reader headcanons

a/n: thank you for requesting this because i absolutely love this idea! so uhhhh ... i know you asked for both Ford & Stan but i kinda just got carried away with Stan lol, i love him so much. Ford's will come later i swear i just need to gather my braincells first 🥺 i also had no idea what pic to use but this one is pretty cool

nsfw

★ drunk!Stan rambles about marrying you every five minutes. and the problem is that he sounds so dead serious, even though hes glassy-eyed, he still mumbles about finding stealing a ring. he swears up and down that he’s gonna give you the biggest fucking wedding the town’s ever seen!

★ totally cries if you scold him. “babe, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to!!” he doesn’t even know what he did :( he’s just clutching your hands, looking up at you with glassy, pathetic puppy-dog eyes. “do. . . do you still love me?” :((( “i promise i wont screw up anymore”

★ i believe that Stan is a fucking loud drunk. he’s the guy who starts yelling even though he’s right next to you. “BABE. BABY. SWEETHEART. LISTEN. LISTEN TO ME. I GOTTA TELL YA SOMETHIN’ IMPORTANT“ and he immediately forgets what he was gonna say

★ clings to you like a damn koala (i headcanon that it's his habit from childhood). one arm slung around your waist, his face buried in your neck, whining about how much he loves you <3

★ “YA SEE THIS?” he shouts, absolutely hammered, slamming his drink down and pointing at you. “THIS IS THE LOVE OF MY GODDAMN LIFE, EVERYONE PAY RESPECTS.”

★ turns into the biggest, neediest, whiniest bitch the second you start petting his hair. melts into your touch, groaning like you’re giving him a full-body massage

★ “hey babe, babe, listen. listen. i could still totally pick you up. no, i ain’t that drunk. watch.“ promptly falls on his ass :)

★ drunk texts you while you’re sitting next to him. “you look so good rn wanna make outtt”

★ gets real quiet for a second, then just grabs you, full-body clings, putting his head on your shoulder and absolutely refuses to let you go. “yer real warm. like. so warm. like. god, i love you. so much. like. i would fight god for you.” rubs his face against you like a big cat. “mmm. soft. mineeee”

★ grabs your hands, starts playing with your fingers. “how are yer hands so small!!! youre adorable, lookit this. we match!!!”

★ “i would sell my fuckin’ soul to eat you out on a casino poker table.”

★ loves to lean in, blabbering “babe. babe, we should fuck.” and immediately trips over his own feet and almost faceplants. “cmon, sugar, i still got it. promise. just. gimme a sec to stop seein’ double. . .“

★ tries to be smooth, but ends up being an absolute mess. he's so clumsy and his coordination is absolute garbage. “yer s’pretty. s’gorgeous. wanna—“ hiccup “wanna do bad things to ya.”

★ he is literally groping you in public, so u have to physically drag him home, but he stops you with “no babe, let’s do it right now. what d’you mean we’re in a bar? who cares? they should be honored to watch”

★ Stan tries to take you right then and there. against the bar wall, in the backseat of the car, pressed up against a damn pool table. does not give a single fuck, if he wants you then he wants you, that's it, he's just super clingy and needy when drunk

★ grumbles like a brat if you try to move away. “noooo, no, baby, stay, c’mon, lemme touch ya, lemme hold ya.“

★ during kiss he starts crying over something stupid. i see him as a big fan of animals so im sure hed let his sappy side shown “babe, i—i saw a dog earlier—he had such a lil face—“ then immediately changes topic and sobs into your neck, mumbling about all the things he loves about you. your smile, your laugh, your warmth, the way you always put up with his bullshit

★ he is fucking humping you. rutting against you like a goddamn teenager, grinding his cock against your thigh, moaning into your mouth and whiny as fuck. “babe—babe, c’mon, need it so bad, need ya, fuck, m’hard, babe, please“

★ so needy before he even gets inside you. you grind against him once and he’s whimpering, rubbing his face into your chest, muttering, "fuck—oh, fuck, babe, i can’t, m’gonna fuckin’ die”

★ he lets you do whatever the hell you want to him. has no resistance. tell him to lie back, spread his legs, let you take care of him, he’s doing it immediately. “shit, baby, you can do whatever ya want with me” his words slur when you push him down. Stan loves when you’re in control. he loves feeling helpless with you. “sweetheart, ya got me, got me so good, god, i’m all yours”

★ he needs to kiss you constantly so he kisses you through his own moans, muffling every whimper into your mouth. his lips are swollen, but he keeps going, but if you pull away he immediately whines, pawing at you, pouting. “nuh-uh, sugar, gimme another one, one more, just one more”

★ so goddamn eager to please. he’s already sloppy with his tongue when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk. . . “gonna“ hiccups “lemme eat ya out, babe, lemme—“ he trails off, just shoving his face between your legs

★ if he tries to be cocky, he 100% fails immediately. “y’know i could make ya come in five seconds flat, right, sweetheart?” now that's a bold statement, so you decide to tease him saying “oh yeah? prove it.” as result, he fumbles his belt, gets tangled and falls off the bed

★ the moment you’re alone, he’s all over you. hands grabbing at your waist, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against him. i bet groaning like a slut every time you move. “fuuuuck, babe, y’feel so good—jesus, lemme touch ya, so good for me”

★ literally cannot stop touching you, even after he’s cum. nuzzling into your neck, lazy fingers playing with your clit, begging for second round bc he just cant get enough

★ if you're not here with him when hes drunk, he would absolutely text you smth like “babe ya up? cause m’fuckin’ hard, thinkin’ bout ya” which leads to him sending a dick pic with his thumb in the way. “ffffuck. waitt lemme try again”

★ i love showing that this silly old man doesn't know how to use his phone so here's more: ofc he'd send you “thinkin bout ya. fuck baby, wish ya were here right now.” interesting and very tempting right? you smirk, typing back. “yeah? what would you do if i was?”

Stan: gimme a sec

and you wait, you wait a long time. then your phone dings again with message “FUCK. wait. fuckin camera’s flipped” you raise an eyebrow when suddenly another ding.

stan: HOLY SHIT WAIT NO

you open the picture and it’s literally just his forehead, his fucking forehead. you laugh typing “baby what am i supposed to do with it?”

Stan: jesus fuck i was tryna be sexy. whatever. just get over here n’ sit on my fuckin face instead

it came to my mind so suddenly and i think it's cute so i wanted to write it, can be mullet!Stan or our lovely old man Stan, doesn't matter, this man is clingy and needy as fuck when drunk

so. . . imagine you have to take care of his dumb ass :)

“okay, c’mon, big guy,” you grunt, dragging Stan toward the bed, but he’s completely deadweight. arm slung over your shoulder, mumbling absolute nonsense and you groan about his weight, damn hes so big

“babe,” he slurs, grinning all dopey, cheeks flushed. “babe, yer so fuckin’ cute. cutest person in the whole damn world.”

“yeah, yeah,” you huff, trying not to laugh. “cutest person currently trying to keep your ass from collapsing on the floor.”

“hell yeah, i would collapse for you," he says seriously what makes you snort, finally managing to shove him onto the comfy soft bed. but before you can step away, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you right down with him. “nuh-uh,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. “yer stayin’ here. m’not sleepin’ without ya.”

“Stan.”

“shhh.” he nuzzles closer, his voice already sleepy. “jus’ gimme a kiss, babe.”

you sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. but apparently, that’s not enough. he tilts his head up and looks at you through half-lidded, lips parted.

“mmm. no, sweetie. real kiss.”

“Stan, you’re drunk.”

“m’not that drunk.” he smirks, dragging you down. ”c’mon, sugar. jus’ one.” how can you reject those brown puppy eyes? you kiss him, despite everything, you bring your lips to his, hoping for a light and absolutely innocent kiss, but of course, Stanley immediately turns it filthy, deepening it, groaning into your mouth, trying to pull you on top of him.

“mmm, babe, let's fu—“

“go the fuck to sleep, Stan.”

i could end it right here, but i think that both Stan and Ford, when drunk, will definitely tell you about all their kinks

so you were just trying to get him to bed, but oh no. he’s got something really, really important to tell you. and, of course, he’s whispering it all breathy against your ear. it starts off all sweet snd clingy though, hes saying things like “yer my favorite person ever. ever. fuckin’ love ya. best thing that ever happened to me. wanna keep ya forever. never lettin’ go. nope. yer mine now.” and smothers you in sloppy kisses, your cheek, your jaw, your lips and everywhere he can reach. his hands are wandering, gripping, stroking, but he’s just so damn lazy about it.

and it's not like you dont enjoy it, of course you do, so you let him touch you like that but then he whispers “baby i gotta tell u smth. y’ever think about doin’ real filthy shit?” Stan hiccups and presses his face against your neck. “cause, fuck, i got, like, so many things i wanna do to ya” he pulls back, gripping your face, staring at you all serious. “baby i wanna bend ya over every goddamn surface in this house. countertop. . . table. . . or fuck- fucking you against the wall. shit, babe—just. . . love it when you let me take ya from behind, love seeing that pretty ass bounce. f-fuck, and when ya moan my name like that makes me wanna breed ya.” OH. OH?? damn, your mouth drops open. “Stan—“

“m’serious!” he groans, dragging you onto his lap, rocking his hips up into you. “always wanna fill ya up, sugar. wanna see ya all full n’ dripping” he’s nuzzling into your neck now, biting, groaning against your skin. ”yer so soft, babe. wanna mark ya up. wanna ruin ya so bad. i love when ya pull my hair or when ya get all bratty. fuckin’ love puttin’ ya in yer place. . . or when ya get all sweet n’ beg for it, shit, babe, i’d do anything if ya begged real nice”

he’s rubbing his flushed face against your chest now, breathing heavy, a complete mess. “i love ya. yer the best thing that ever happened to me.”

you sigh, dragging a hand through his hair, smiling despite the fact that ur crazy heart is about to jump out of your chest.

“baby, you’re so drunk.”

he huffs, clinging tighter. “yeah? so what? doesn’t make it less true.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #stan pines #stanley pines x you #stanley pines smut #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stan pines smut #stanley pines x reader #mullet stan x reader #gravity falls smut #stan pines headcanons

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heeaara · 1 day ago

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BiKER BOYFRiEND @ psh ✿── ( 남자친구 성훈 ) 𓈒𓈒

biker bf ━ park sunghoon && 𝑓.reader ⟡ 1.5k wc , cw ... relationship, skinship, petnames, headcanons. overall fluff ♡

ARA's NOTE : idk if it's written good i basically just blabbered wtv, bare w me tanks. im jkjk its good trust.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who saw you at one of his night races for the first time, thinking you were the most beautiful and alluring woman he had ever laid his eyes on, with an adorable smile that enhanced your features to the greatest extent. It was definitely love at first sight, he had thought to himself.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had been thinking about you nonstop since the day he saw you at his race. Your face, your outfit, your smile, and not to mention, your captivating aura that had him attracted towards you immensely, in ways he could not explain. He was down bad, and he knew it.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who kept a boutique of flowers everyday at your doorsteps, in different kinds and different colors with cute short love notes saying "━ with all my heart" or "you entice me and enchant me". It had always left you flabbergasted and amused, and when it had been two weeks since this was going on, you knew you had to find the one who had been leaving you these flowers and these small love notes. You had to find your secret admirer.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who looked down due to embarrassment. Your hands crossed over your chest, your eyes piercing right through his soul. You had finally caught him, you had finally caught your secret admirer and when you found out it was the one and only park sunghoon ━ the handsome biker you saw long ago when you had went to see one of the races, you felt amazed.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who felt as if his heart was about to explode and jump out of his chest. You had invited him to your house. When you had caught him, you obviously needed an explanation. He knew he was doomed and he knew he was embarrassed as hell. He could feel his cheeks on fire when you had made eye contact with him, your eyes silently looking for answers. "care to explain?" you had asked him as you kept a tray of snacks and two glasses of juice on the table.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had gathered all the courage to tell you how he really felt. He knew he couldn't lie and you weren't that stupid enough to believe his made up excuses. He had fallen in love with you, he told you. He wasn't able to keep his mind off you since the day he had seen you at the races. He had confessed he really wanted you, infact, he needed you. With him, in his life.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had been trying immensely since the day you had heard his confession and you had allowed him to sugar coat you. You had thought to yourself, why not give it a chance ? and not to mention, you too had found him attractive. He was handsome yet kind of reckless and you liked that. But, you weren't sure about your own feelings, you weren't sure if you wanted to have a relationship with him yet. Moreover, you had never known him well. You still had a lot to figure out.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would take you out on dates like going to the beach or exploring the city or on some luxurious dates. He would send you small texts throughout the day and not to mention, he still left boutique of flowers every single day, along with small texts and chocolates or candies with the side. At the point you felt that your house was about to become a whole store of flowers. You enjoyed your time with him.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who was actually about to cry when you had confessed your feelings to him. After a whole of two months of him sugarcoating you, he knew his hard work had paid off. He knew he had finally completed his mission. He was finally able to win your heart and he had felt like as if the luckiest man alive.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who knew he had to propose you properly and he thought the best place to do that was of course, at one of his races. He had invited you to his night time races. He had been qualified to the finals and he knew he had to win it. Not for him, but for you. He was indeed nervous as hell since he had to make his plan work out one way or another.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had won the race and the very first person who came to his mind was you.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had kneeled on one feet as he took out the ring with a, red boutique of flowers. This wasn't a wedding proposal though, but he didn't care, he had to make his proposal an unforgettable memory which you and him would narrate to your kids in the future, if you both ever marry.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who softly made you wear the ring and not to mention, you were actually sobbing. You had absolutely and utterly loved his surprise. It was unexpected but it had made you shake to your core. You knew you loved this man more than yourself and you were meant to be his.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who kissed you softly in front of the crowd. Your lips perfectly molding in his, as if they were made for each other. It was the kind of kiss, a kind of sign, that was filled with love and unsaid promises. Moreover, it was a gesture of full claim, to let everyone know you belonged to him and him only.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who had brought you and him couple necklaces with a pendant that had your initials on it. The necklace serving as a reminder for the both of you. Even if you both were far away from each other, the necklace gave out as a sign of both of you being each others, even if the both you were planets away.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would call you "princess" as if it were his favorite word. The word just came naturally on his lips, it was a term that was for you only. An indication of total endearment, also, it was his word for calling you elegant and beautiful. You were like a goddess in his eyes, he loved you immensly.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would take you on late night bike rides up to the hill for stargazing considering how much you loved the stars, moon, astronomy in general. The stars always reminded him of you. You were a star as well, you were his star, always shining bright without even trying, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he'd think to himself.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would sneak into your house right in the middle of the night through your window, just to see you sleep in his arms, softly wrapped around you. You'd always feel flabbergasted every time he did that. You still remember the very first night he had sneaked into your house, you thought you were dreaming. It was funny the way you had opened your eyes, saw him, yelled and had pushed him off your bed. He was crazy and you loved it.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would let you do his hair. He was so cute, you thought to yourself. This man had you at the palm of his hand. You knew you were two times crazier for him than he was for you.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would suddenly kiss your cheek without even a warning. He loved when you yapped about things and he loved the way he would catch you off guard whenever he'd kiss your cheek in the middle of your yap session.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would teach you how to ride his bike.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would beat the shit out of every single man who'd talk to you or talk shit about you.. He wasn't toxic but he was a very jealous man. He was possessive about you. You belonged to him, you were his. He hated every single guy who'd check you out, considering how kind of a pure soul you were. He absolutely loathed it. In fact, he would totally commit arson if anyone tried to hurt you or bad mouth you. Whether it be a male, or a female. He did not care, he'd protect you and keep you happy no matter what.

BiKER BF SUNGHOON ━ who would give up heaven if he had to, just for you <3

TAGLiST : @sugarikiz @vmpivory @manaah02 @liwinly

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the-winter-spider · 18 hours ago

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The Alchemy | Part 5

NFL!Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 5k

Warning: Angst, toxic relationship, manipulation

A/N: Im sorry in trying my best, mental health is just a bitch. Once again i dont know shit about football or the NFL LOL I'm an NHL girly but here we are so if i get terms and shit wrong its ok cuz its a fan fic 🤣🤣

Masterpost

----

The party was in full swing by the time you and Bucky arrived—packed with sweaty, overhyped teenagers celebrating the team’s win, red plastic cups littering every surface, the air thick with cheap beer and bad decisions. Someone had strung up white Christmas lights around the backyard, giving the whole place a soft glow, but it did nothing to cut through the chaos.

You weren’t even sure who actually lived here, just that it was a senior with rich parents who conveniently weren’t home, and that half the damn school had shown up to celebrate.

The music pulsed through your chest, bass-heavy and a little too loud, but it didn’t matter. Because Bucky was there, pressed close as he navigated you through the swarm of people like he always did, one hand grazing the small of your back, the other lifting in a lazy wave whenever a teammate shouted his name.

“Stay put,” he murmured near your ear once you’d finally managed to carve out a small space near the bonfire. “I’ll grab us a drink.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

The night was warm, the heat of the fire licking at your skin. You weren’t fully relaxed, there was something about nights like these, about parties, about being surrounded by people who were too drunk to notice if something went wrong, but Bucky made it better. He always did.

A few minutes later, he returned, grinning as he held out a red cup. “Here, got you something good.”

The second you caught the scent, rich, smoky, unmistakable—your stomach twisted.

Whiskey.

The smell hit you like a punch to the gut, sharp and suffocating, dragging you back to memories you wanted buried. The way the bottle slammed onto the counter. The way his words slurred together, thick with anger. The way your mother sat frozen at the table, staring at the wall, waiting for it to pass.

Your fingers curled into your palm. “I—I can’t drink that.”

Bucky frowned, holding it out a little more. “What? Since when does my girl turn down a drink?”

Your throat tightened. “Just… not whiskey.”

He opened his mouth, probably to make some joke about you being picky but then, you saw it. The exact second he realized.

His entire body stiffened, his eyes widening just slightly before flickering with something heavy. His grip on the cup faltered. “Oh, fuck.” His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with something close to regret. “Shit, I—I’m sorry.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a small, tight smile. “Bucky, it’s not a big deal.”

“The hell it’s not,” he muttered, setting the cup down so fast it nearly toppled over. “Stay here, I’ll be right back….again.”

You watched as he vanished again, weaving back through the house, his shoulders tense.

For some reason, your chest ached.

You hadn’t expected him to care so much. It was just a drink. Just a stupid drink at a stupid party. But Bucky had looked at you like he’d failed you somehow..

When he returned, he had two cold beers in his hands. He pressed one into yours before cracking open his own, exhaling sharply like he was only just allowing himself to relax.

“I feel like an idiot,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I should’ve remembered.”

“Bucky, it’s an insignificant thing, it’s really not—”

He cut you off before you could downplay it again. “Nothing about you is insignificant, okay? Nothing.” His blue eyes burned with sincerity, sharp and unshakable. “The stuff that matters to you? It matters to me too. And I’m sorry I forgot.”

Your heart squeezed.

You weren’t used to people treating you like this—like your pain was valid, like your boundaries mattered, like your past wasn’t something to be brushed aside.

But Bucky always had.

He always would. You’re sure of it.

You swallowed hard, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you,” you murmured. “For always being there for me.”

“Always” He whispered, a slight crack in his voice.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The chaos of the party faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in the flickering firelight, beer bottles hanging loosely in your hands.

He was close..so close, the space between you shrinking with every unspoken word. His gaze flickered to your lips, just for a second, before his tongue darted out to wet his own.

Your pulse hammered. Finally, you thought.

And then…

“BUCKY, MY MAN!”

The moment shattered.

A loud, drunken whoop cut through the night, and then, suddenly, the entire football team was descending on him, dragging him into their celebration, slapping his back, shoving beer into his free hand.

You took a step back, your breath still caught in your throat.

Bucky’s eyes snapped to yours, something like frustration flashing across his face, like he knew what had almost happened, what finally, almost happened, like he wanted to go back but then someone was lifting him onto their shoulders, chanting his name, and he was forced to tear his gaze away.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You let out a quiet breath, tilting your beer back and swallowing the lump in your throat.

Maybe it was for the best.

Maybe it was a sign you were meant to just be friends. To always be just friends.

-----

The hallway outside your hotel room was quiet, save for the occasional distant voices of players passing through, all heading somewhere to celebrate the win. You stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you waited for John. The nerves sitting heavy in your stomach weren’t from excitement—weren’t from the anticipation of a night out, a rare moment to unwind after the intensity of the season’s start. No, this feeling was something else.

You knew what kind of night this would be before it even started. Because you knew John, and the thought of Bucky and him at the same table left you anxious.

John was already running late, and you were left alone with your thoughts, the seconds stretching into minutes, making you hyper-aware of everything—the way your dress felt too tight around your ribs, the way your pulse thrummed a little too fast.

Then, a voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“You okay?”

You turned slightly to see Bucky standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable.

You nodded quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just waiting on John.”

His eyes flickered with something, something you couldn’t quite place. He didn’t say anything right away, just studied you for a moment longer. And for a second, you wondered if he could see it, the way your hands clenched the fabric of your dress at your sides, the way your shoulders were drawn just a little too tight. He use to be able to.

But before either of you could say anything more, the hotel door swung open behind you.

John stepped out, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket, his phone in one hand. He barely spared you a glance before looking past you to Bucky.

“Barnes,” he said smoothly.

Bucky gave him a nod, expression still unreadable. “Walker.”

John’s hand found the small of your back, the touch firm, more like a warning than anything else. “We’ll see you guys there,” he said, already steering you down the hallway.

Bucky didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering even as you walked away.

The ride to the restaurant was silent at first, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional ding of John’s phone as he scrolled through messages. You kept your hands clasped in your lap, your fingers digging into your palm to keep them steady.

Then, he spoke.

“Do not embarrass me tonight.”

You blinked, your breath catching slightly. “What?”

John didn’t look up from his phone. “These guys? They’re not just players. They have influence. And if you make me look bad in front of them—” He finally turned his gaze on you, a tight smile pulling at his lips. “Well, let’s not make this difficult, okay?”

You nodded automatically, your throat tightening.

He sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the seat. “Just smile, laugh at my jokes. And don’t go on and on about your stupid media stuff, alright? Trust me they don’t give a shit, they’re just playing nice because you used to be friends with Barnes.”

Used to

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look out the window as the city lights blurred past.

It was funny, in a cruel sort of way. You were finally in a place where you felt like you belonged, like you were good at something, and yet John had a way of making it feel so…insignificant. Like you were just playing pretend. And you knew he was right, they were some of the best players in the league getting paid millions of dollars. Why the hell would they care about you and your stupid job that you apparently didn't even earn on your own. And Bucky… well you didn’t even wanna get started on that because you knew deep down you weren't good enough for him then you certainly not good enough for him now. Friends or not.

By the time you pulled up to the restaurant, the unease had settled deep in your chest.

The restaurant hummed with warm, low chatter, the golden glow of the dimmed lights casting soft shadows against the walls. The air still carried the lingering buzz of victory, the easy energy of a team celebrating a job well done. The conversation around the table flowed effortlessly—teammates recounting plays, exchanging banter, trading inside jokes.

You sat between John and Sam, fingers curled around the napkin in your lap, trying to keep yourself grounded. Across from you, Bucky sat quietly, his beer untouched in front of him, blue eyes scanning the table. He wasn’t withdrawn, exactly, but he was watching. Observing.

John, on the other hand, was in his element. Effortlessly inserting himself into conversations, charming everyone around him, laughing at just the right moments. It was all so natural, so perfectly performed, and it made your stomach churn.

The waiter arrived, taking orders, and when he got to you, John barely hesitated before speaking.

“She’ll have an Old Fashioned,” he said smoothly, handing the menu back without looking at you.

You stiffened.

You hated Old Fashioneds. You hated Whiskey, its what your Dad use to drink.

It was such a small thing. Such a stupid, insignificant thing. But the way he did it, so carelessly, so decisively, without even glancing at you, made something burn in your chest.

For a second, you thought about correcting him. Thought about forcing your voice through the thick silence building in your throat. But before you could, his hand slid onto your thigh under the table, fingers pressing firm. Not quite enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you.

You stayed quiet.

When your gaze lifted, Bucky was already watching.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. But the look in his eyes made your skin feel too tight, like he saw right through you. Like he was remembering something.

And maybe he was.

The moment passed, lost in the clatter of silverware, in the swell of voices as the team kept talking.

“So, John,” Steve said, glancing at him. “What do you do?”

John leaned back slightly, his arm still draped over the back of your chair like he belonged there. “I do some PR work behind the scenes,” he said easily. “NFL branding initiatives, helping coordinate events, stuff like that.”

Helping coordinate events. That was generous. You knew damn well he barely lifted a finger. He had a title, sure—something vague that let him slip into rooms he didn’t belong in—but his name, his father, were what carried the real weight.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And your dad? He’s still high up in the league, right?”

John grinned. “Oh yeah. He’s got his hands in just about everything. Any major decision in the league, you can bet he’s a part of it.”

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn. No wonder you’re so connected.”

John just laughed. “Exactly. Connections are everything in this business. It’s all about who you know.”

He said it so smoothly, like it was just an offhand comment, like it wasn’t meant to cut. But then—

“That’s actually how Y/N got this job, you know.”

Your stomach dropped.

He said it like it was nothing. Like it was casual. Like it wasn’t a grenade he’d just thrown into the middle of the table.

John chuckled, nudging your side. “She’s so damn stubborn—wanted to do everything on her own. Thought she could earn it on her own. But hey, I put in a good word, made sure the right people saw her résumé.”

Silence.

You thought you might be sick.

With the boys that heard, with Bucky thinking you didn’t earn this job, didn’t deserve this job. You felt small, embarrassed. You felt all the colour drain from your face as you took in a sharp inhale.

And from the way Bucky’s jaw tensed slightly, from the way his fingers curled around his beer glass, you knew he was biting back from saying something.

The noise of the restaurant pressed in around you, but everything felt muted, far away. Your hands clenched in your lap, nails digging into your palms as you stared at the flickering candle in the center of the table, trying to keep your face neutral.

Then—

“Doesn’t matter how she got the job,” Sam said suddenly, his voice easy but firm. “Girl’s talented as hell. Deserves it.”

You looked up, surprised.

He was grinning at you, all warmth and confidence, like he hadn’t just rescued you from drowning. And you couldn’t help it—you smiled back, your chest loosening just a little.

But the moment was short-lived. It always was.

John’s hand tightened around your thigh in a sharp, quick squeeze. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough for you to feel it.

“Of course, my girl deserves the world,” he said smoothly, giving you a kiss on the temple before sitting back like he hadn’t just staked a claim.

Bucky was still watching.

Still quiet.

And then John, ever the performer, turned back to the conversation with a smirk. “So, Barnes,” he started, picking up his beer. “You knew Y/N back in what was it again? High school, huh?”

“Our whole childhood.” Bucky’s gaze flicked from you to John, his face unreadable. “But yeah.”

John laughed, shaking his head as he gave you another playful squeeze. “Bet she was a handful back then, huh? Like she is now?”

You forced a small, tight smile, but the grip on your thigh burned.

Bucky didn’t take the bait.

His voice was steady, even, when he finally spoke.

“I could never think that of her.”

The air at the table shifted. It was subtle, but it was there, the tension threading through the conversation like an undercurrent, pulling tighter with every second that passed.

Bucky’s voice was steady, even—but beneath it, there was an unmistakable edge, something sharp and unyielding. His blue eyes never wavered from John’s, locking him in place. And for the first time that night, John hesitated. Just for a second.

You had never seen him hesitate before. It wasn’t in his nature. He was used to having everything handed to him, power, privilege, even respect, whether he earned it or not.

Then, he let out an easy chuckle, leaning back in his chair like he hadn’t noticed the shift in energy. “That so?” He took a slow sip of his beer before glancing at you, his smirk returning. “You must’ve had him wrapped around your finger then, huh?”

Your stomach twisted.

You knew what he was doing. The fake charm, the lighthearted jabs that were never actually lighthearted. The way he was always trying to remind you, to remind everyone, that you were his.

Before you could say anything, Bucky leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

“She wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate. “She didn’t take advantage of people.”

John’s smirk didn’t falter, but you felt his fingers press a little harder against your thigh.

“No?” he said smoothly. “Guess she’s changed, then.”

The words were coated in something...something that made your chest tighten, something that made Bucky’s fingers flex around his glass.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Steve cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. Sam, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, glanced between John and Bucky, lips pressing into a thin line. The energy around the table felt like a slow-building storm, quiet but electric.

John exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Relax, Barnes,” he said, his voice light, but the way he said Bucky’s name, like it was a joke, like it was something he didn’t take seriously—made your stomach drop.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t flinch.

But something in his expression changed.

His blue eyes darkened, his jaw tightening slightly, and you could see the muscle feather under his skin.

It wasn’t that Bucky had a short temper. He didn’t. But there were certain things that got under his skin, certain buttons that could be pushed just enough to break that infamous restraint of his.

And John was pushing them.

Hard.

“I’m relaxed,” Bucky said evenly, voice slow and measured. But the way he was gripping the glass in his hand told you otherwise.

John chuckled again, but it was forced this time.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “I always wondered what it would be like, growing up with her. Bet she was always the center of attention, huh?” His grip on your leg tightened as he glanced at you, his tone deliberately playful but edged with something sharper. “She loves that, doesn’t she?”

It was a test. A warning. A reminder.

And Bucky knew it. You knew it.

His expression didn’t change, but his shoulders tensed just, the way they always did when he was holding himself back.

“She deserves attention,” Bucky said, voice low, the weight of it settling heavily between them. “The right kind.”

The implication was there, clear as day.

John’s fingers twitched against your thigh.

That got John’s attention. John for the first time that night, he finally looked Bucky directly in the eye.

The fake smile was gone.

The air felt thick, suffocating, like something was teetering on the edge of breaking.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

John stared at Bucky for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, just as quickly as it had shifted, he leaned back again, his smirk sliding back into place like nothing had happened.

He let out another laugh, shaking his head. “Man, you must really got it bad, don’t you?”

Bucky didn’t react.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

It was unbearable. You couldn't even hear the chatter from the other side of the table anymore, you couldn't hear the loud music, you could only hear the blood in your ears and the thumping of your heart.

Then, finally, John exhaled, giving your leg one last, sharp squeeze before finally pulling his hand away.

When Bucky didn’t give him a response of any kind he kept going. “Well,” he said smoothly, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “I don’t blame you. She’s something else, huh?”

His lips pressed against your temple, but his grip on your shoulder was firm, and when you instinctively glanced at Bucky again, his jaw was clenched so tightly you thought he might crack a tooth.

The moment hung there, heavy, stretching impossibly long.

The tension at the table was suffocating now, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

You could feel Bucky’s stare—burning, unwavering—but you refused to look back at him. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d see in his expression.

Anger?

Regret?

Something worse?

John, on the other hand, was thriving in it. You could tell by the way he leaned back casually in his chair, the way he sipped his drink like he wasn’t winding up for another hit.

You were hoping that someone else would say something. Maybe the waiter would come back and interrupt the moment. You were hoping that even maybe Bucky would finally respond and give him what he wants so this could just all stop. But he didn't, so John didn't stop.

And then, just as you feared, he took his shot. He was trying so desperately to get anything out of Bucky.

“You know, Barnes,” John mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “I gotta say, man, I don’t know how you missed out on this.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew what was coming before he even said it.

John turned his head, his lips grazing your ear as he squeezed your thigh beneath the table. “She looks even better without clothes on,” he said, low enough that only Bucky, and maybe Sam, could hear. “Seriously. Something must be wrong with you.”

A cold chill ran through your spine.

Bucky went completely still. His fingers no longer flexing on the glass.

It felt like the world had stopped moving.

John grinned, leaning back again. “So tell me, Buck—what exactly did you do wrong to never get your shot?” He raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Didn’t have the balls to go for it?”

Sam shifted beside you, his posture stiffening. You weren’t sure if it was because of what John had said or because of the way Bucky was looking at him now, like a predator sizing up its prey. Bucky was letting him dig his own hole and he wanted so badly to bury him in it.

Then John’s smirk widened. He wasn’t done yet. He never was.

“Oh wait,” he said, snapping his fingers in faux realization. “Don’t answer that, you probably think you didn’t do anything wrong, huh? You just—what was it again?” He turned to you, pretending to think. “Oh, right. You completely cut her off when she told you she was moving. How pathetic is that?”

A sharp pain bloomed in your chest.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

John laughed under his breath, taking another sip of his drink before delivering the final blow.

“And then you never even called her when she lost both her parents,” he added, shaking his head. “Not one but two! Damn, man. I mean, I’d say what kind of friend are you? but…” He shrugged. “You guys aren’t friends anymore, right? You made sure of that.”

Silence.

Pure, deafening silence.

Your heart was in your throat.

John’s words hung in the air like poison, thick and suffocating. The weight of them settled over the table, pressing down like a storm cloud about to break.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

And then—

Bucky finally blinked. He took a sip of his beer.

Slowly, he set his drink down on the table with a deliberate clink.

His knuckles were white against the glass.

His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, measured breath.

But when he lifted his eyes to John, there was nothing playful in them. No amusement. No restraint.

Just ice.

And something dangerous.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs.

John, for the second time that night, hesitated.

It was barely noticeable—a small twitch of his fingers, the slightest flicker of uncertainty behind his smirk.

But Bucky saw it.

You knew Bucky saw it.

And you thought he was going to hit him. That he was going to lunge across the table. A part of you wanted him to.

The tension stretched impossibly thin, so thick it was hard to breathe.

Then..

“Buck,” Steve said, his voice low. A warning.

Bucky didn’t look at him. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

He just stared.

And somehow, somehow—that was worse.

Sam exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Man, you’re really pushing your luck tonight,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for his drink trying to ease the tension.

John chuckled again, but it wasn’t as effortless this time. He clapped a hand on your thigh one more time before finally leaning back, his smirk settling back into place.

His jaw was tight, his grip on his glass even tighter, but his eyes—his eyes—were locked onto John like he was seconds away from standing up and putting him through the damn table.

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

You weren’t sure if you were more afraid of what John would say next or what Bucky would do in response. Either way, the air felt charged, volatile, like something was going to snap.

And then, Bucky’s gaze flickered, just for a second, to you.

He saw the look on your face.

The way your fingers were curled into your lap, nails pressing deep into your skin.

The silent plea in your eyes.

And just like that, the tension in his shoulders dropped just slightly, the fire in his expression dimming just enough to see you.

You swallowed thickly, turning to John who was opening his mouth, again. Dragging in a shaky breath before reaching out, your fingers wrapping around John’s forearm.

“Stop,” you said quietly.

John barely glanced at you. “Stop what?”

You squeezed a little tighter. “John,” you said, your voice lower now, more desperate. “Stop this.”

John finally looked at you then, turning his body toward you slightly, his eyes narrowing. His smirk was gone. In its place, something colder, something more dangerous.

“I wanna hear you say it,” he murmured, his voice a quiet taunt. “Come on, honey. Where are your manners?”

You stiffened.

John tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Say it nicely,” he pressed, his fingers ghosting over your thigh under the table. “Try ‘please stop, John’.”

The words stuck in your throat.

The way he was looking at you, so smug, so in control, made you feel sick. You hated how easily he could do this, how effortlessly he could turn your voice into something that barely belonged to you anymore.

Your lips parted, just barely, ready to force the words out—

And then Bucky’s voice cut through the air.

“Don’t.”

John’s head snapped up, his entire body going rigid.

Slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Are you telling my girl what to do?”

That was it.

The final line drawn in the sand.

Before anyone could say another word, Steve pushed his chair back with enough force to make it scrape against the floor. His tone was sharp, decisive. Done.

“Okay,” Steve said firmly. “That’s enough. I don’t know what’s going on here, but this—” He gestured between Bucky and John. “—is not happening. Not tonight.”

Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t take his eyes off John.

Didn’t blink.

Steve exhaled sharply before turning to Bucky. “Buck, let’s go.”

Bucky didn’t respond, not right away. You could see the war in his expression, the sheer force of restraint it took for him to tear his gaze away from John.

But when he finally did, when his blue eyes landed on you again, his expression softened in a way that made your chest ache.

He wasn’t just looking at you. He was asking.

Are you going to be okay?

You wanted to answer.

Wanted to say yes.

Wanted to say no.

Wanted to say please don’t go.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, you looked down.

Bucky’s jaw tightened again, but he didn’t push it.

He just let out a slow, measured breath before finally stepping away from the table.

Steve followed.

A few of the other players, ones who had been too far away to hear what had really gone down, called out casual goodbyes, still laughing about something completely unrelated. They had no idea.

And then, just like that, Bucky was gone.

John exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the audacity. Then, without another glance at you, he pulled his arm from your grip and stood, scooting down the table to where some of the other guys sat.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you weren’t even there.

Laughter bubbled from the other side of the table, casual, easygoing.

Meanwhile, on your side, it was just you and Sam.

The silence between you was suffocating.

You swallowed hard, staring at the candle in the middle of the table like it might give you some kind of answer, some kind of out.

And then, barely above a whisper you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Sam frowned. “I can’t stress this enough, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Your throat tightened. You blinked rapidly, a single tear slipping free before you could stop it. You wiped it away quickly, but Sam saw.

He saw.

And he didn’t look away.

For a few more seconds, you just sat there, staring at nothing, the weight in your chest making it hard to breathe. Then, suddenly, the air in the restaurant felt like too much, too hot, too stifling, too heavy.

“I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” you said abruptly, pushing your chair back.

John’s head snapped up immediately. “What?”

You turned to him. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just head back early.”

John frowned, standing before you could even move. He grabbed your wrist, hard, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you flinch.

“You going by yourself?” he asked, voice low.

Sam saw.

His entire body went stiff beside you.

“I figured you wanted to stay, don’t you?” you asked John carefully, testing the waters.

John let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he finally, finally, released his grip. “Of course I do,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward his teammates. “I’m here with my buddies.”

The guys around him laughed, completely oblivious to the way the moment had just unfolded.

John turned back to you, smirking. “Wait up for me?”

You nodded mechanically. “Of course.”

His smirk widened. “That’s my girl.”

And then, without warning, he yanked you down, crushing his lips to yours.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a claim.

A reminder.

It was too much, too hard, too aggressive, too something but you let him do it anyway. You always did.

When he finally pulled away, he flashed you one last smile before smacking your ass, earning a laugh from the other guys and turning back to the conversation like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just bruised your wrist.

Like he hadn’t just stolen the air from your lungs.

Like he hadn’t just won.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to move, forcing yourself to leave before you made the mistake of looking back.

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